The Angry Opel Corsa and Android Auto: partners in psychological warfare.

Before we get started, I don’t particularly like new cars. I just got out from my 2013 Hyundai Veloster and I just have to say I appreciate it even more after having dealt with Stellanti’s take on the Opel Corsa. Why? For the very simple reason that hiding underneath the Veloster’s frivolous appearance is a car that has no beeps, no Android Auto, no flashy lights and pseudo-intelligent systems that do everything except what they’re supposed to do. It is not the kind of car that stands out in any objective way, but it does have a phenomenal smiles-per-miles-ratio. So let’s take a look at the 2025 Opel Corsa and see just how far away automakers have strayed away from automotive joy.

As you — an eagle-eyed reader — may have gathered from the title, I loathed the Opel Corsa. But before we dive into this four-wheeled disaster, let’s quickly talk about the rental experience.

The car – a 2025 Opel Corsa with just over 8000 kilometres on the clock – was booked through the Rentalcars.com platform. It’s a great online booking tool that allows you to compare quotes for different cars across multiple rental companies. Think of it as Skyscanner, but then for wheels once you hit the ground. Using the platform, we added extra insurance on top — just to be on the safe side. For eight days with unlimited mileage and a full coverage we paid about €310 for the car and €70 for a Zurich full insurance option, making it a “budget car.” The car was supplied by Avis, and picking it up from their booth at Valencia Airport was a foreshadowing of what was to come. But, being in a good mood, all was shrugged away.

Even though we’d already paid for full insurance, we were asked at the counter if we wanted another insurance policy. The first suggestion amounted to a bit more than €40 per day, making it more expensive than the actual rental cost of the car – Why? After refusing that twice, the price magically dropped to the mid-20s per day. Still refusing, a Mexican standoff was bound to happen in the arrival terminal of Valencia Airport. The persistent woman at the counter pulled out a pen and paper and wrote down the eerie number 1362. That’s not the pickup location — that’s the amount, in euros, you’d be charged per damage claim despite having full coverage through Rentalcars. Welcome to car rental logic.

After refusing this thinly veiled form of extortion, we picked up what Avis insists is a car. The clerk told us there was some damage to the front bumper. In reality, almost every panel had a scratch, and more concerningly there was a sizeable gouge in the sidewall of one of the rear tires — highly irresponsible, Avis. We documented everything, just in case, and, weary of the tire we hit the road.

The mighty 1.2L three-cylinder engine delivering a mind boggling 99 bhp sputtered to life, and every screen in the car lit up like a budget spaceship. One ‘button’ said “Navigation” — exactly what you need in a foreign country. Then came the first error: no built-in GPS. Welcome to modern misery masquerading as progress — you need Android Auto or Apple’s equivalent. No problem, I had my phone. But the Corsa didn’t like my high-end USB-C PD cable (a 2m, shielded, 20Gbps, 240W monster I use without problems for my laptop and multiple hard drives). The system tried to connect, beeped, failed, beeped again, and gave up. In the end, I had to rely on my passenger holding the phone and acting as an unwilling human cartographer. Later, I bought a cheap, neon green USB-C cable from the local Spar — and surprise! It worked perfectly on the first try. Maybe the car only likes budget accessories to match its budget personality. An unintended upside, the neon green cable was also the design highlight of the car’s dull interior for as long as we drove it! The cable is nowadays safely stashed away in my electronics travel case for my next, inevitable, skirmish with Android Auto.

Now a short word or two about the interior, it was a budget car, and you feel it sitting inside. The seating position never really felt comfortable, I somehow ended up with the vague impression that the steering wheel is not straight in front of the seat (At age 32 of writing, this could also be some wear and tear on my joints). The place to rest your left foot is cramped in the manual version of the car. And overall it is just dull. The one thing Opel got right is the presence of physical buttons! All the important things have a physical button or knob, and the screens of your budget spaceship react quickly to the buttons in combination with some lights scattered over the dashboard. It isn’t nice to look at, but everything is well organized, clearly labeled, responsive and accessible. From a utilitarian perspective on cars, it’s great. And I’ve saved the best for last… The boot is roomy enough for two pieces of checked in baggage and two pieces of hand luggage. So far it seems this supermini is the ideal companion for zipping around in the South of Spain: Small enough to get rid of in Murcia or Cartagena and big enough to get you there in relative comfort.

Well, it will get you ‘there’, although it’ll take it’s sweet time doing so. The engine, in all honesty, is zippy enough in city traffic, though it does not inspire a great deal of confidence to pull into tight gaps. But hey, it’s a budget car — compromises are needed. What’s not expected is the absolute cacophony of chimes you’re subjected to the moment you start moving. This relentless nagging earned the car its nickname: The Angry Corsa.

There’s a special place in the lowest circle of hell for whoever signed off on the “Intelligent Speed Assist.” This system picks up every road sign in sight — even signs for exit lanes — and always chooses the lowest speed. Cruising at 120 km/h on the motorway? If there’s a 70 km/h exit sign, brace yourself for beeping. Every. Single. Time. And – as mandated by law – this system turns itself back on, whenever you start the vehicle.

The blind spot monitor is equally useless. A sharp hairpin turn with a metal barrier we drove regularly triggered it over and over. We ended up taking that corner way wider than needed just to avoid another digital tantrum. And then there’s the lane assist — an actual threat on B-roads with no lines. The system reads cracks or discolorations in the pavement as “lanes” and jerks the steering wheel in random directions. There’s nothing like a sudden, unprovoked swerve toward the shoulder to really wake you up. Android Auto deserves its own rant – for years I was impressed by the idea, and I was even considering of retrofitting it into my daily car. All it took was a few days with the Angry Corsa to learn that ‘progress’ and ‘improvement’ are not necessarily the same. One of its best features is the so called “Get Lost Mode” — which gets automatically activated when your phone loses signal. This happens more than you’d think in the countryside or in a mountainous region. Since the car has no real map-data of its own, navigation depends entirely on the holy trinity of your phone, Google Maps, and that cheap cable you bought in desperation. No reception? No route. You better like guessing! All of this added up to a fresh hell of automotive misery — digital gaslighting, a symphony of beeps and ad lib swerves, all caused by Advanced Driver Assist Systems that err too often on the far side of caution.

To be fair, the Corsa isn’t entirely horrible. It’s soft on bumps, especially compared to cars with sports suspension and low-profile tires. That’s genuinely nice on roads with excessive speedbumps, or country roads (as long as said streets have decent markings!). The seats are passable — fine for short drives, but I wouldn’t want to sit in them for a real road trip. It’s the ergonomic equivalent of a soggy cardboard box — soft at first, then oddly structural in all the wrong places.

In short, this is the Greta Thunberg of cars: comes in a small form factor, shouty, and fully committed to guilt-tripping you into compliance. If you have ears, consider yourself warned. Returning the car to Avis in Valencia went… surprisingly smooth. We mentioned the damaged rear tire — not that anyone cared. They accepted the car as-is without a proper inspection. Honestly, now I understand why they only had the front bumper marked as damaged in the system. Maybe it’s policy, maybe it’s just laziness. Either way, document every bit of damage before you leave the lot. It’ll save you a headache and potential financial ruin.

I just hope whoever gets the Angry Corsa after me doesn’t find out about that rear tire the hard way.