Bargain basement with a touch of French flair is a cunning plan to establish Euro infiltration of the sub-$30k bracket with good-sized, practical car.

Price: $27,990

Powertrain and performance: 1.6-litre petrol inline four-cylinder. 84kW/156Nm. Front-wheel-drive. Combined cycle fuel consumption 6.9L/100km.

Vital statistics: Length 4341mm, height 1693mm, width 1804mm, wheelbase 2674mm. Wheels: 16-inch alloys with 215/65 R16 tyres.

We like: A mid-size SUV for the same price as a low-end city car changes perceptions of vehicular value; roomy and rides well.

We don’t like: Some ergonomic executions, poor seats, tardy powertrain.

NOT this brand, but one in a similar situation of working to establish its presence in the market, made a point recently about provenance: Basically, the argument went along the lines of ‘where’ a car came from is pretty much inconsequential these days.

There’s solid reason to this: Cars are truly international objects, what hits the road can be a combination of technologies and components from multiple sources.

More than this, they can be as the Renault Duster on test today is: A vehicle whose branding is totally for convenience of easiest market placement.

It could just as easily be what it is in Europe, a Dacia, but then that’s a wholly new thing for Kiwis to get their heads around. Renault already has a solid and long-lived presence, so easier to present it as one of those.

That might not have been possible were only New Zealand doing this; we’re a tiny market, after all, and the volume for this car might be modest. Fortunately, South Africa also wanted the Duster, wangled the French connection, so we get to benefit.

Still, there’s no shame in telling the whole story. Wholly owned by Renault, Dacia is Romania’s only domestic car brand. It specialises in what the Duster clearly evidences as; robust and no-nonsense products developed to suit buyers too budget-constrained to buy into the very latest European fare, even at mainstream level. That’s what it is there. That what it does here.

The idea of being a product of a country many New Zealanders might not easily be able locate on a world map isn’t as much of a novelty it might seem.  

Many countries in eastern Europe have become favoured locations for car-making; you’d be surprised how many western brands have set shop there. Rumania is admittedly one of the more obscure, but it’s getting on the map.

 A reminder of this came during the week with the Duster. Two days after it arrived, a Ford Puma also turned up. Wanna guess where that’s also built? From my reckoning, its birthplace is just a few hundred kilometres from the Duster’s. Who knows, they might have even travelled out here together.

Anyway, if you didn’t know the background, you’d have no idea of the birthright. At best, as with the Puma, the Duster identifies as European, simply because of the usual reversed indicator and wiper wand placements, while the only giveaways to it being different to other Renault cars here is that there’s less of an obvious upmarket ambience.

But then, being what some would call ‘honest’ is a real strength, given how little this car costs and much it gives in respect to that sticker.  

For sure, it does not deliver the same degree of polish you get from truly the modern European products; comparing with the Puma at that level really highlighted how the Duster is a car with more focus on tried and true.

 Yet the biggest criticism during this drive time was aimed at the drivetrain’s relatively tame performance. That might simply have a case of it need to ‘free’ up, as ours was a very low mileage car, but perhaps that’s not going to be the case, given the 1.6-litre engine is only rated to put out 84kW/156Nm and it’s also hooked up to a continuously variable transmission that, in respect to its operability, appears to be of the older versions plucked from the Renault-Nissan alliance parts box. 

Yes, even the flashy Atacama Orange paintjob (it’s the launch colour) cannot disguise that the styling isn’t all that avant garde, an impression that carries into the interior.  

The kerbside walkaround ended in debate about the faux vent behind the front wheels. Dacia is hardly the first make to do this sort of this, but here it does seem to be such a strange styling weirdness I imagined – and have since confirmed – it was there to disguise a really awkward panel join. 

And yet, as much as it looks a bit yesteryear, and as obvious – when you sit inside it – that everything is built down to a price (that is the whole point, of course), it's much less hair-shirt than you might imagine. 

One big points score in its favour is that it also picks up all the salient features you’d want from something that presents as being in the here and now.  

The core safety functions are all on board (it comes with a five Euro NCAP score), plus blind spot monitoring and a multi-view camera, and though the seats are too formless to be comfortable and also awkwardly hand-adjusted, in a car that could have conceivably left electric windows and air conditioning on the shelf (don’t worry, it doesn’t), that it also has remote central locking, a multi-function trip computer and a touchscreen infotainment system with Android Auto, Apple CarPlay and embedded satellite navigation is … well, very much ‘quelle surprise.’

Sure, they’re budget versions of upmarket features, so you have to expect some crudity. That infotainment system is a low tier thing with a tiny 7-inch screen. There’s just one USB input point in the whole car for phone integration and it’s in the most utterly inconvenient place possible: Right above the screen so that the cord dangles down over it when in use. The door key looks like it came from the 1990s. On the other hand, while the plastics are hard and a bit basic, they’ve got a nice matt finish. 

But there’s no point being picky, because it absolutely does not pretend in any way to be more than it is. And, in that respect, you have to give it … well, deep respect.

And, let’s agree, that when it comes down it, you get a lot of car in the physical sense. Notwithstanding that the sticker attached at the moment is an introductory offer so might not last, that spend is pretty attractive: It’s virtually a medium-sized and very practical model at the same money usually charged for a considerably smaller, more city-considered type. And that aspect alone surely has to sell it: Room for five adults and a load of stuff in a huge, well-shaped 445-litre boot is plain to see.

As said, when driving, you won’t want to be in a hurry. Basically, it’s not a quick car. As tested, the engine wasn’t gutsy, struggling with two adults on board to maintain a steady 100kmh up hills that usually don’t present any particular challenge.  The transmission is fussy, as well; hand shifting stirs things up, but if you rev the engine out then it sounds and feels wheezy. So, it needs some thought to keep up with open road traffic. It has a lot less trouble around town, where the engine is actually quite muted until about 3000rpm, the point at which the box tends to shift up.

Handling is also in keeping with the type of car it is and the patform it has; which is one that did the rounds with Renault quite a while ago (initially being for trhe Clio small hatch). It doesn’t drip with sophistication, but gets the job done. Ride comfort is the best aspect. It is above par, dealing with even mediocre road surfaces. It’s quite a light car but has a decent stance and don’t seem to get buffeted by crosswinds.

But it’s no more showy in driving than it really is at the kerbside. But don’t be embarrassed by this. The whole point of the Duster is that it is a cost-effective, unpretentious and utterly sensible solution. If you could afford something a bit better, you probably would spend extra. If that’s not an option, you could do a lot worse.