To someone such as myself from Northeast Ohio (land of the vinyl-roofed Oldsmobile and the beige minivan), Miami Beach is another automotive universe. I saw things on my business trip there in April that you just don't see in Youngstown or Cleveland: so many Bimmers, Porsches, and high-end Mercs that I stopped paying attention to them; four-door Buicks Maseratis stacked up three deep in the hotel driveway for valet parking; V-12 Ferraris sharing the side streets with tricked-out Chevy Caprices on twenty-inch DUB wheels; even a Harley with underbody lights and a subwoofer.
Even among the palm trees, stretch limos, and aggressively customized tint-windowed Escalades of this tropical crazy car heaven, this little red thing stood out as unique:
In fact, I am reasonably certain that it's the only one of its kind in the United States.
So what is it, and where did it come from?
What it is is a Peugeot 206 CC. The 206 series is a "supermini" FWD automobile platform first produced in 1998. Though Pugeot introduced the 207 as its replacement in 2005, the 206 remains in production, and is Peugeot's best-selling car model of all time.
The "CC" version is a convertible with a power-retracted steel top, introduced in 2006. It's theoretically a four-passenger car, but unless you're under age ten or have a surname like "Baggins" or "Brandybuck," you're not going to fit in that rear seat. The 206 CC has a curb weight of around 2,500 pounds and is available with a variety of four-cylinder engines ranging from 107- to 138-horsepower. Those who have direct experience with them say that the 206 is lively and fun to drive--though a bit cramped and noisy, with a few minor build quality issues and an arguable lack of refinement.
In other words, the 206 CC is perfect Car Lust material.
At this point, you might be wondering how you can get one. The short answer, if you're in the U.S., is that you probably can't. Peugeot abandoned the U.S. market in 1991, and I am unaware of any "gray-market" importer bringing 206 CCs into the country.
So how did a 2006-or-later Peugeot sneak into the U.S. and end up parked on a street in Miami Beach? A partial answer to that mystery can be found on the license plate:
It's a consular license plate, issued by the U.S. State Department, which identifies this car as one registered to a foreign diplomat. There is a lot of international business done in south Florida, and nearly every country with which we have diplomatic relations maintains a consulate in Miami. There were some Spanish-language stickers on the windshield, so I assume the owner is from a Spanish-speaking country. The 206 CC is assembled in Brazil and Argentina for the Latin American market, so it is likely that this particular car was built in one of those two places.
Foreign diplomats posted to a consulate are entitled to a form of diplomatic immunity known as "consular immunity." It appears that consular immunity permits a diplomat to bring in a set of wheels from the home country for personal use without having to "federalize" it.
I didn't get to meet the driver of this car, so I can't tell you anything more than that about it. I'll always wonder if the 206 was shipped here, or if it was driven in from the home country on an epic road trip. I'd like to think it was the latter.
As for Señor or Señora Diplomat, driving around the "Sun and Fun Capital of the World" on official business in this little red drop-top--whoever you are, you have a delightful little car, and what must be a fascinating job. If we ever meet, I'd love to hear all about it, and the mojitos are on me.
--Cookie the Dog's Owner
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