HowTo:Drive and maintain a car from the Eastern Bloc

Be less lazy, morons

Congratulations, fellow Americans, on your decision to acquire a car from the glorious Eastern Bloc! You've proven that the land of freedom and excess can still appreciate the subtle charm of a car built with communist precision—or lack thereof. Owning and operating one of these Soviet marvels is as simple as your average corn dog, assuming that corn dogs also leak oil, break down constantly, and have a steering system that may or may not respond to your desperate pleas for survival.

Specs of Eastern bloc car compared to cars from U.S.

Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for a lesson in automotive reality: the showdown between the Virgin American Car and the Gigachad Eastern European Car. It's not just about getting from A to B; it's about embodying pure automotive superiority while exposing just how coddled, fragile, and utterly pathetic American cars—and their owners—have become.

The Virgin American Car: A Plastic Ego Wrapped in Chrome

Your virgin cars (For some Yanks). Cheaply built, expensively sold.

• Baby Mode Driving: American cars practically drive themselves, which makes sense—who needs skill when your biggest challenge is figuring out which fast-food drive-thru to hit next? With automatic everything, from transmission to seats that heat your rear end for you, these bloated land yachts are the perfect metaphor for the lazy, overfed lifestyle that comes with them. Adaptive cruise control, lane-keeping assist, collision warning? What are you, five? Is walking too hard for you, too? Maybe get out of your car once in a while, genius.
• Breaks Down When You Breathe on It: Virgin American cars are as reliable as your internet connection during a storm. One little bump in the road and suddenly it’s like the entire onboard computer system has a meltdown. That check engine light? It’s just the car’s way of saying, “Please, sir, take me back to the dealership, I can’t handle being outside the garage!” And when it does break, congratulations—you’re now the proud owner of a $2,000 invoice for what turns out to be a bad sensor that didn’t even need fixing.
• Ridiculously Expensive and Proud of It: American cars are priced like luxury yachts but built like Fisher-Price toys. Sure, they look fancy, all gloss and chrome, but underneath that shiny exterior is a heart of overpriced mediocrity. Enjoy paying for features you’ll never need—like surround sound so you can really hear your Spotify playlist while idling in the Starbucks line. You didn’t buy a car, you bought an overpriced couch with wheels that happens to barely function as a vehicle.

The Gigachad Eastern European Car: A Machine for Those Who Have Seen Life

Cheaply built, cheaply sold.

• Manual Everything, Because You’re Not a Coward: In the land of the Gigachad, steering your car is a physical act of will. No lazy, limp-wristed finger-twitching here—when you turn the wheel, you feel it. Each gear shift is a mini-war with the transmission, and your biceps grow with every clutch press. Air conditioning? Roll down your windows like a man, or better yet, let nature do its job. And as for that missing power steering—well, that’s just motivation to hit the squat rack later. The real question is: why wouldn’t you want to feel like a Soviet action hero every time you park?
• Immortal, Like a Bear in Winter: These cars are built to last, not like those delicate tin cans Americans call vehicles. Eastern European cars don’t “break down,” they simply offer you opportunities to bond with them through minor repairs—like tightening a bolt or using duct tape to fix what other cars would consider a fatal flaw. They don't care about your fancy synthetic oil or premium fuel—regular old diesel or vodka will probably get the job done. If something does break, no need to sell your kidney to afford the repair. Grab a hammer, slap the hood, and it’ll probably start working again out of fear.
• Cheap as Dirt, Yet Worth More Than Gold: While the average American spends their life savings on a car that’ll depreciate faster than a new iPhone, the Gigachad car can be yours for the price of a week’s worth of fast food. And it’ll still be running long after that overpriced American piece of garbage has become landfill fodder. You won’t need to take out a second mortgage just to replace a headlight—your new part costs less than a Big Mac. Plus, you won’t have to suffer the indignity of being dependent on a dealership full of smarmy salesmen and overpriced mechanics.

How to drive the Eastern bloc car

That's american.

Alright, you lazy, doughy American, it’s time to talk about how to actually drive an Eastern Bloc car. You thought handling your pathetic, plastic, power-steering, touch-screen American trash was "driving"? Oh no, sweetheart, that’s just sitting on your oversized ass while your car does the work for you. In a real car—an Eastern Bloc car—you don’t get coddled like the fragile piece of junk you are. You’ve gotta work for it. But I’m here to walk you through it, step by step, because let’s face it—you wouldn’t survive a day behind the wheel of something that doesn’t hold your hand.

Step 1: Starting the Car—Crank It, You Weakling

You need that crank sometimes

Forget your push-button starters, you lazy sack of fries. We’re talking about cars that sometimes start with an honest-to-God crank. That’s right, you’ve got to manually turn a hunk of metal to bring the engine to life. No whining about “Oh, but it’s hard!” Of course, it’s hard—you’re not just pushing a plastic button like some limp-wristed loser who’s scared of a little sweat.

So grab that crank, jam it into the front of the car, and twist. Not some half-assed little twist either—put your whole body into it, you pathetic excuse for a human being. You’ll probably strain something, maybe pull a muscle, but hey, that’s the price you pay for driving a real machine. Once you hear that beautiful rumble of the engine catching, you’ll feel like you actually accomplished something for once in your soft, coddled life.

This will be you after driving a Lada/Škoda/Polski Fiat.....

Step 2: Steering—Grow a Pair and Fight the Wheel

Let’s talk about steering, you useless jellyfish. Your American garbage car probably lets you turn with one finger, doesn’t it? Well, guess what? Power steering is for children and the infirm. In an Eastern Bloc car, you are the power. Every turn feels like you’re wrestling a bear, and you better bring your A-game or the car’s going to drag your sorry ass straight into the nearest ditch.

Got a tight corner coming up? Start turning that wheel with everything you’ve got. Your soft, marshmallow arms are about to get the workout of a lifetime. You’ll be sweating bullets by the time you finish a three-point turn. Maybe it’ll even remind you that driving used to take skill before cars were built for lazy bastards who can’t handle a little manual labor.

And don’t even get me started on parallel parking. In your overpriced American couch-on-wheels, you probably let sensors and cameras do the job while you sit there like the overfed lump you are. In an Eastern Bloc car? You do it the old-fashioned way: pure muscle, willpower, and the ability to see out of your goddamn windows like a real driver. Stop crying about it and start cranking that wheel.

Your worst nighmare

Step 3: Shifting Gears—Because Only Pussies Drive Automatics

Oh, what’s this? You don’t know how to drive stick? Of course, you don’t, you useless fuck. In America, you drive these pathetic automatics where you can’t even be bothered to shift gears like a proper driver. In an Eastern Bloc car, there’s no such thing as automatic—because driving is meant to be an activity, not something you can do while eating a fucking cheeseburger with one hand.

Get used to it: one hand on the gearshift, one foot on the clutch. The gearbox isn’t going to slide into place like some fancy European luxury car. You’ve got to force it in there. That grinding sound? That’s the car telling you to try harder, weakling. Don’t be scared—grind that sucker into gear and show it who’s boss.

And when the engine stalls (because you will screw up), don’t come crying to me. Restart it, figure it out, and get back on the road. Only American toddlers expect the car to do all the thinking for them. In the real world, you take control or you don’t drive at all.

Step 4: Pedals—Use Those Feet, You Lazy Bastard

American cars have soft, delicate pedals that practically stroke your foot every time you touch them. Eastern Bloc cars? Not so much. These pedals are stiff, brutal, and won’t respond to your half-assed American baby taps. You need to slam those pedals like you mean it. The clutch feels like stepping on a brick. Get used to pushing that thing down with all the strength your pampered, flabby leg can muster.

Brake? Same thing. Don’t expect the car to stop on a dime just because you’re used to feather-touch braking. Stomp that thing like you’re trying to put your foot through the floorboard. If you’re lucky, it’ll stop in time. If not, well, maybe that’s just life teaching you how weak you are.

Step 5: Suspension—Embrace the Pain

American cars glide over the road like they’re rolling on clouds because the last thing you soft, lazy bastards want is to actually feel the road beneath you. Eastern Bloc cars, though? Oh, you’ll feel the road, alright. Every bump, every crack, every goddamn pothole is going to shake you to your core. The suspension isn’t there to comfort your bloated, weak body. It’s there to survive. So when you hit a bump and your spine shudders like a piece of overcooked spaghetti, just remember: this is what driving really feels like.

The car is built to survive warzones and Siberian winters, not your suburban Walmart parking lot. If you want a smooth ride, go back to your luxury SUV and cry about it. Real drivers don’t need pampering—they embrace the brutality.

Step 6: Potholes—Learn to Love the Challenge

Potholes in Eastern Europe aren’t like the mild, barely-there dips on your American roads. These things could swallow a small animal whole, and your delicate American-made SUV would shit its transmission if it saw one. But your Eastern Bloc car? It’ll power through, shaking and bouncing, but it’ll survive—unlike you, who probably needs a chiropractor after driving over a speed bump.

Learn to navigate these potholes without whining like a little bitch. You’ve got manual steering and stiff suspension—every drive is a goddamn adventure, so stop complaining and start enjoying the fact that you’re actually doing something with your life for once.

Step 7: Stalling Out—Accept That You’re Going to Screw Up

You will stall. Often. And every time you do, you’ll probably curse and bang your soft little fists on the steering wheel like the spoiled brat you are. But guess what? That’s driving. In an Eastern Bloc car, stalling is part of the experience. You’re learning, you weak-willed idiot. Every time the engine cuts out at a stoplight and you hear horns blaring behind you, just remember: it’s not the car’s fault—it’s yours.

Restart the engine, get the car moving again, and try not to embarrass yourself too much. Real drivers don’t cry about stalling. They just fix the problem and keep going. And if you can’t handle that? Well, maybe stick to your automatic transmission and your overpriced, idiot-proof American clown car.

Stop Being Such a Pathetic, Soft-Ass Excuse for a Driver

Driving an Eastern Bloc car is easy—if you’re not a lazy, stupid, weak-ass American who thinks driving should be as simple as pushing a button. You’ve got to fight the wheel, crush the pedals, and wrestle the gearbox into submission. But that’s what driving is. It’s not just sitting back and letting the car do everything for you, it’s about effort.

So, stop being such a soft, pampered, spoon-fed idiot. Get in the car, start cranking, and show the world that you’re not the pathetic sack of lard you’ve been conditioned to be by your overpriced, over-engineered, idiot-proof garbage cars.n.

How to maintain your communist car

Alright, you bloated, couch-loving American, buckle up, because it’s time to get into the nitty-gritty of how to actually keep an Eastern Bloc car running. If you thought driving one was hard, maintenance is where you’ll find out just how weak, clueless, and utterly pathetic you’ve become. Unlike your fragile, overpriced American hunks of trash, these cars are built for survival. But since you're soft as a marshmallow and probably have never even touched a wrench in your life, I’m going to spell it out for you. Prepare to be insulted, because let’s be real—you deserve it.

Why would you take your car to mechanic and charge 200 dollars when you can change the oil by yourself? Think

Oil Change—Stop Being a Moron

You probably drive to a “quick lube” center and let someone else do your oil changes while you sit in the waiting room scrolling through Instagram, don’t you? Well, newsflash, Karen: changing the oil in an Eastern Bloc car isn’t a pampered, 10-minute operation performed by some high school dropout who charges you $150. It’s called doing it yourself, you lazy sack of unprocessed corn syrup.

Grab a wrench, crawl under the car, and let that glorious black sludge drain out. Don’t worry about using some fancy, synthetic oil with a name you can’t pronounce. The cheapest motor oil from your local gas station will do the trick. If you’re feeling particularly stupid, maybe spend a little extra on oil, but your car doesn’t care. It’ll run on anything. If you don’t change the oil for 10,000 miles? It won’t complain like your whiny American car—it’ll just keep going. But seriously, just do it every once in a while. Even you should be able to handle that.

Tires—No, You Don’t Need Michelin Super Ultra-Deluxe

You probably think that your car needs “performance” tires so you can drive your Ford F-150 down to Walmart in style, right? Get over yourself. Eastern Bloc cars don’t need those overpriced rubber wheels you’re so obsessed with. Buy the cheapest tires you can find—they’re literally just circles that keep the car off the ground. If they wear out? Rotate them yourself, you useless lump.

Unlike your bloated American sedans that start fishtailing if they hit a light drizzle, an Eastern Bloc car will plow through rain, mud, snow, and probably fire with no problem. Just give the tires a good kick now and then to check if they’re still round. You can replace them with second-hand tires that probably came off a tractor and no one would notice—or care. They’ll still outlast whatever garbage you slap on your fragile American toy.

Brakes—You Actually Have to Check Them, Genius

I know you’re used to your American car telling you when the brakes are wearing down. You probably wait until the little warning light pops up on your dashboard, right? Of course you do, because that’s how lazy and dependent you’ve become. Well, in your Eastern Bloc car, there’s no dashboard to baby you. You need to actually use your brain and check them yourself. Shocking, I know.

Pull the wheels off, look at the brake pads. If they’re thin, guess what? Time to replace them. Don’t whine about not knowing how—it’s called YouTube, Karen. You can learn how to change brake pads in 10 minutes, and the parts will cost you less than a case of beer. Or maybe you’ll just have to get off your fat ass and go to a junkyard to find some replacement parts. Either way, stop being such a baby about it. The sooner you realize how simple this is, the better.

Electrical Problems—You Don’t Need a NASA Engineer

I get it—you Americans think that any little flicker of a dashboard light means a trip to the dealership, where they’ll charge you $500 to reset a fuse. You might as well hand over your wallet and dignity on the spot. But guess what, you absolute clown? Eastern Bloc cars don’t need 500 different electrical sensors to function. If a light stops working, it’s not some cryptic message from the car gods. It’s just a bulb, you moron. Replace it for $2 and move on with your life.

If the wiring’s shot, who cares? Tape it back together. That’s right, get some electrical tape, twist the wires, and slap it together. You don’t need a degree from MIT to understand basic wiring. And if the headlights die? Slap a flashlight on the roof and call it a day. You won’t be doing any worse than your over-complicated American SUV that shuts down if it so much as detects a light breeze.

Exhaust System—No One Cares About Emissions

You’re probably used to your American car throwing a fit if there’s an emissions problem. All those sensors and catalytic converters—they just scream, “Please take me to the dealership and pay $1000 for a replacement.” Well, congratulations, you big, whiny baby, because in an Eastern Bloc car, no one gives a damn about emissions. You could drive around spewing black smoke and no one would bat an eye.

Exhaust pipe hanging off? Wrap it in duct tape or tie it up with some wire you found in your garage. Is it noisy? Good, it’s letting you—and everyone else—know it’s alive. You don’t need some eco-friendly, expensive solution. You need grit, tape, and a total disregard for environmental regulations. And guess what? It’ll keep running, long after your Prius has thrown itself into limp mode because it’s too delicate for this world.

Interior Maintenance—You’re Not Hosting a Dinner Party

The American obsession with pristine, luxurious interiors is as pointless as it is laughable. Leather seats, heated cup holders, touchscreen dashboards? You think your car is your living room, don’t you? Pathetic. In an Eastern Bloc car, the interior is for sitting, nothing more. Rips in the seats? Just throw a blanket over it. Dashboard cracked from the sun? Good—shows it’s been outside, unlike you.

If the seats start falling apart, grab some old seat covers or, better yet, take them out and replace them with wooden benches. You don’t need comfort, you need functionality. Stop treating your car like a country club and start treating it like a tool.

Rust—The Badge of Honor

Americans freak out over a little rust, like their precious car is going to fall apart if they don’t slather it in overpriced wax and undercoating. Here’s a reality check: rust is inevitable. And you know what? In an Eastern Bloc car, rust isn’t a problem—it’s a badge of honor. It shows the car has lived a real life, not some pampered existence in a suburban garage.

Got rust? Good. Embrace it. You can always hammer it off, slap some paint over it, or just leave it. The car’s frame isn’t going anywhere, unlike your overpriced American clown car that disintegrates if you so much as look at it wrong. And if a piece actually falls off? Just weld another one on. Or don’t. The car won’t care. It’ll keep driving no matter how much rust it collects.

Wake Up, You Overfed, Underworked Idiots

Maintaining an Eastern Bloc car is simple, easy, and actually makes you a better person—unlike your overpriced American trash cans on wheels that require a team of technicians for every tiny issue. You don’t need a dealership, you don’t need premium parts, and you certainly don’t need the pathetic excuse for “car knowledge” that’s been force-fed to you by your consumerist culture.

Stop crying about dashboard lights, rust spots, and “check engine” nonsense. Pick up a wrench, use some duct tape, and learn how to fix things yourself. Your car doesn’t need a therapist—it needs you to stop being an incompetent, weak-willed clown.

Welcome to the real world of driving, where the strong thrive and the lazy fail. Get with the program, America. Or go back to your dealership and beg them to fix your overpriced toddler toy while you sip your frappuccino.

Ideal cars for types of american people

Choosing a car from the Eastern Bloc is like choosing to truly live on the edge. These vehicles don’t just get you from point A to point B—they make you appreciate every second of the journey (or suffer through it, depending on your perspective). Unlike the overengineered monstrosities Americans are used to—packed with gadgets and so full of luxury features you could practically live in them—these cars required actual effort. They weren’t about convenience or comfort, but about getting the job done with the least amount of tech possible. So, for any lazy, spoiled American who’s never even heard of a choke or had to worry about whether their car would start in the morning, buckle up—because we’re about to dive deep into some of the strangest, most unique, and downright challenging cars from the Eastern Bloc.

Škoda 100 and 110 R

Škoda 100

The Škoda 100 and its sportier sibling, the 110 R, were rear-engined, which is something that would confuse your typical American who’s used to giant V8s up front. The engine’s placement was unusual even for its time, giving the car a unique weight balance and handling. In the hands of someone who actually knows how to drive, this could be a lot of fun. But for someone who needs their car to tell them when they’re too close to the curb or start flashing warnings about "low tire pressure," this rear-engine layout would be a disaster waiting to happen.

There’s no traction control, no automatic anything—just raw, unfiltered driving. And let's be real, your average American wouldn’t last five minutes. They’d probably pop the front hood, look for the engine, and panic when all they find is the trunk. It’s a car for drivers, not for people who treat driving like a passive experience, scrolling through Spotify playlists and sipping on their overpriced coffee.

Fun fact: Rear-engine cars are rare, even today. The Škoda 110 R was essentially the working man’s Porsche, but it required a lot more skill and finesse than anything most Americans are prepared for.

Target audience: Vintage car lovers, rally enthusiasts, and anyone who enjoys the challenge of rear-engine dynamics. Definitely not for those who need an automatic transmission to survive.

Lada 2101 and 2103

VAZ 2103

The Lada 2101, based on the Fiat 124, stripped away all unnecessary comforts, and we’re talking all of them. It’s like Fiat gave it a buzzcut and sent it off to military school. You get a basic, simple car that’s reliable, tough, and indestructible—kind of like the Soviet Union itself. The Lada 2101 could handle terrible roads and brutal winters, but there’s no power steering, no air conditioning, and certainly no luxury.

For an American used to driving cars that do half the thinking for them, the Lada would be like stepping back in time, and not in a good way. Imagine their faces when they realize the only "assist" they get in this car is manual window cranks. The Lada 2103 was a bit more stylish, but it still wouldn’t give an American the coddling they’ve come to expect.

Fun fact: The Lada 2101 is so simple that even today, in remote areas of Russia, people can fix it with nothing more than a wrench, some duct tape, and sheer willpower. Can your $70,000 electric SUV do that? I didn’t think so.

Target audience: Off-grid enthusiasts, people who think modern cars have too many unnecessary features, and anyone who appreciates reliability over comfort. Absolutely not for someone who gets frustrated when their car doesn’t have Bluetooth.

Volga 21 and Volga 24

GAZ M-21 Volga. You can notice the woman which is changing a tire.

The Volga 21 and 24 were the Soviet Union’s version of luxury sedans, but don’t expect the kind of luxury Americans are used to. There were no leather interiors or state-of-the-art entertainment systems. What you got was a car that looked imposing, drove like a tank, and could endure any conditions you threw at it. These cars were heavy, making them a challenge to handle, but they exuded authority.

Imagine a pampered American trying to park a Volga in a grocery store parking lot—it would be like watching someone try to parallel park a battleship. Without parking sensors or power steering, they'd be hopeless. The Volga required muscle to drive, and that's something Americans tend to leave at the gym (if they even go).

Fun fact: The Volga 21 was so durable that taxi drivers and police in the Soviet Union used it for decades. It wasn’t fancy, but it was reliable. Meanwhile, in America, people are trading in their cars after three years because the seats aren’t plush enough anymore.

Target audience: People who love vintage luxury cars but don’t care about gadgets, and those who value durability and presence over comfort. Definitely not for the type who panics when the parking brake isn’t automatic.

Chaika.

GAZ M13 Chaika

The GAZ M13 Chaika was the car of the Soviet elite. This limousine was reserved for top officials, but it wasn’t about personal comfort—it was about commanding the road. The Chaika was a massive car with a powerful engine, but its features were nowhere near what Americans expect from a limo today. There were no mood lighting systems or Champagne coolers here. This car was for someone who didn’t need gadgets to feel important—the car itself did that for them.

Now, picture an American sitting in the backseat of the Chaika, wondering where the Wi-Fi and Netflix are. This car was built for people who understood that power doesn’t come from accessories, but from sheer size and presence. An American wouldn’t survive a minute in a Chaika without whining about how "outdated" it is.

Fun fact: The Chaika was so revered that it was used for parades and to chauffeur foreign dignitaries. It was basically the Soviet Union’s way of saying, “Look at what we can build.”

Target audience: Collectors of Soviet-era memorabilia, history buffs, and those who appreciate a classic luxury sedan with a bit of mystery. Absolutely not for someone who needs mood lighting and a massage seat to feel important.

Trabant

Trabant 601 Universal

The Trabant is probably one of the most infamous cars of the Eastern Bloc. It had a two-cylinder, two-stroke engine and a body made of Duroplast, which is basically a plastic-like material mixed with recycled stuff (including old clothes!). It also had front-wheel drive—something that’s still considered modern today—but here’s where it gets wild: no fuel gauge. That’s right. If you wanted to know how much gas you had, you had to stop, pop the hood, and stick a dipstick into the tank to check.

An American trying to figure out the fuel level in a Trabant? Forget it. They’d lose their mind. "Where’s the app for that?" they’d ask. Spoiled by modern conveniences, they’d probably end up stranded on the side of the road, wondering why their car didn’t just "tell them" it was running out of gas. The Trabi isn’t just a car—it’s a challenge, a test of your patience and survival skills.

Fun fact: Despite its lack of features and general "basic-ness," the Trabant has a cult following today because of its simplicity. It’s light, economical, and weirdly charming in its own way. But if you’re the kind of person who needs heated seats, stay far, far away.

Target audience: Hipsters, nostalgics, and people who appreciate quirky cars with a story. Also perfect for anyone who enjoys the thrill of never knowing exactly how much gas is left in the tank. Definitely not for anyone who can’t even change a tire.

FSO Syrena

Syrena is basically better Trabi from Poland

The FSO Syrena, affectionately known as the "Mermaid," was a tiny, quirky car produced in Poland. It had a two-stroke engine that gave it a distinctive, noisy sound, earning it the nickname of the “singing car.” The Syrena was super basic—no power steering, no electric windows, no fancy gadgets. In fact, it was so simple that the early models didn’t even have door locks!

Now, picture an American stepping into a car like this. The noise alone would drive them insane. They’re used to cushioned, soundproofed cabins where they can barely hear the road, let alone the engine screaming in their ears. And as for the lack of locks? They’d be paranoid about their car getting stolen at every stoplight, not realizing that no one in their right mind would want to steal a Syrena.

Fun fact: The Syrena’s body panels were so thin, some people joked that if you leaned too hard on it, you’d dent the car. That’s a far cry from the overbuilt, steel fortresses Americans are used to.

Target audience: Die-hard vintage car fans who appreciate quirky, rare models with a lot of personality. Absolutely not for anyone who expects a car to be quiet, safe, and fully loaded with tech.

Polski Fiat 126p (Maluch)

Maluch is cute.

The Polski Fiat 126p, or "Maluch" (meaning "Little One"), is a car that basically defines Polish motoring culture. Produced under license from Fiat, this tiny two-cylinder car was designed to be cheap, simple, and easy to maintain. It’s so small that it makes today’s smart cars look gigantic. It also doesn’t have any frills—no power anything, no air conditioning, and it can barely hit 65 mph going downhill with a tailwind.

An American used to massive trucks and SUVs would look at the Maluch like it’s some kind of toy. How could they ever fit their venti iced caramel macchiato and their overstuffed ego into something so small? Forget about having enough space for groceries, family, or even the bare minimum of personal space.

Fun fact: The Maluch was so beloved in Poland that it was produced for over 27 years, with millions sold. It’s also hilariously famous for being so tiny that you could almost lift the front end by hand. Try doing that with your oversized American SUV!

Target audience: Enthusiasts of microcars, people who appreciate simplicity and nostalgia, or collectors looking for a cheap and cheerful piece of Eastern European history. Definitely not for anyone who thinks a car should have a 12-inch infotainment screen and room for a family of seven.

Polonez was designed by Giugiaro (At least somebody said that)

FSO Polonez

The Polonez was another Polish creation, designed as a more modern and larger sedan than the Maluch. It was built by FSO and designed to be rugged, practical, and—importantly—safe, at least by the standards of the 1970s. The Polonez had a boxy, no-frills design, but it was spacious, reliable, and ideal for Eastern European roads. However, don’t expect any luxury. It’s got vinyl seats, a dashboard that feels like it was made in a toy factory, and manual everything.

For the average American, used to leather interiors and power everything, the Polonez would feel like stepping into a time machine—one that takes you back to a time when "luxury" meant having a working radio. There’s no touchscreens, no automatic climate control, and the only assistance you’re getting is the strength of your own arms to turn the steering wheel.

Fun fact: Despite its plain looks, the Polonez was exported to many countries and even sold in the UK. It wasn’t fast or stylish, but it was affordable and built to last.

Target audience: Vintage car collectors who appreciate the gritty, utilitarian design of Cold War-era cars. Also great for people who want a car with a lot of space and no unnecessary electronics. Not for anyone who needs luxury features to survive a drive.

Wartburg 311 and 353

Wartburg 311 Station Wagon

The Wartburg 311 and its successor, the 353, were East Germany’s answer to the family car. These cars were powered by simple two-stroke engines, which meant they weren’t exactly quiet, and they produced a lot of smoke—imagine driving around in a mobile fog machine. But the Wartburg was practical, spacious, and very simple to maintain. You could fix it with basic tools, which was a good thing, because they often needed a little love and care to keep going.

In America, where people trade in their cars as soon as the warranty expires, the Wartburg would seem ancient and unreliable. The smoky exhaust alone would make your average American driver panic, thinking something was wrong, when really it’s just the engine doing its thing. And let’s not even talk about the fact that there’s no air conditioning, no power windows, and no automatic transmission. Wartburg drivers had to work to get where they were going.

Fun fact: The Wartburg 353 had front-wheel drive, which was ahead of its time for a family car, especially considering that many American cars were still rear-wheel drive at the time.

Target audience: Fans of vintage East German cars, people who appreciate a car that’s easy to fix, and those who don’t mind the smoky charm of a two-stroke engine. Definitely not for anyone who wants their car to be quiet, clean, or hassle-free.

ZAZ-968 Zaporozhets

Zaporozhets.

The ZAZ-968, better known as the Zaporozhets, was the Soviet Union’s answer to affordable transportation for the masses. It’s often compared to the VW Beetle, but without any of the charm. It had a rear-mounted, air-cooled engine (like the Beetle), but that’s where the similarities end. The Zaporozhets was notoriously unreliable and uncomfortable. It was small, ugly, and so loud that some people said it sounded like an airplane taking off.

Imagine an American driving a Zaporozhets. They’d be absolutely baffled. No automatic windows? No stereo? What kind of torture is this?! The Zaporozhets was meant to be cheap and functional, not pleasant. It was built so that anyone could drive it, but let’s be real: no one wanted to.

Fun fact: The Zaporozhets became a symbol of the Soviet working class, and despite its many flaws, it had a cult following. It was also one of the few cars available to Soviet citizens with disabilities, as it was designed with hand controls.

Target audience: Collectors of quirky, offbeat Soviet cars, and anyone who wants to own a piece of communist history. Absolutely not for anyone who’s used to modern conveniences like… seat comfort.

Moskvitch 407/412

AZLK-407. Looks solid.

The Moskvitch 407 and its successor, the 412, were solid, dependable cars that represented the Soviet middle class. They were designed to handle terrible roads, harsh winters, and minimal maintenance—basically, everything a cushy, tech-dependent American would dread. With their simple yet robust design, the Moskvitches were more reliable than flashy. The 412, in particular, gained some rally credibility in the 1960s, proving that, while it wasn’t fast by Western standards, it could hold its own in the toughest conditions.

Americans would likely hate the Moskvitch. First, no air conditioning, no automatic transmission, and absolutely zero comfort features—just an old-school, boxy sedan that feels more like a tractor on four wheels than a car. These cars were made for people who understood how to fix their own engine and didn’t mind cranking down their own windows.

Fun fact: The Moskvitch 412 became famous in rally racing in the 1960s. Soviet engineers used the 412 to show that their cars could compete on a global stage, and its victories over more advanced Western cars made it a legend back home.

Target audience: DIY mechanics, Soviet car enthusiasts, and anyone who appreciates a car that prioritizes ruggedness over luxury. Definitely not for Americans who can’t live without power steering or seat heaters.

Velorex

Velorex 16/350

The Velorex isn’t even a car—it’s more of a glorified three-wheel motorcycle with a fabric body. Yes, fabric. It’s essentially made out of canvas stretched over a steel frame, and the engine comes from a motorcycle. Built in Czechoslovakia, it was aimed at people who needed a cheap, minimalistic form of transportation. It’s light, slow, and doesn’t even remotely compare to anything Americans would consider "safe" or "functional." The top speed is around 60 km/h (37 mph), and if you’re lucky, you might get there with a tailwind.

This thing would leave the average American scratching their head. There’s no GPS, no climate control, and you’ll feel every bump in the road. Heck, you might even feel the road itself through that fabric body! And let’s not even talk about safety—one look at the Velorex, and they’d probably assume it’s a prop from a circus.

Fun fact: The Velorex was initially designed for people with disabilities, but it became a popular cheap mode of transport for the general public in Czechoslovakia. Despite its oddball design, the Velorex gained a cult following for its affordability and quirkiness.

Target audience: Extreme minimalists, fans of unusual vehicles, and collectors of the truly bizarre. Definitely not for anyone who values airbags or, you know, an actual car body made of metal.

Oltcit Special

Oltcit.

The Oltcit Special, also known as the Citroën Axel in Western Europe, was produced in Romania through a joint venture with Citroën. It was an oddball car, blending Romanian austerity with some elements of quirky French design. The Oltcit had front-wheel drive, a small air-cooled engine, and suspension that, while good on paper, didn’t quite match up to the quality of Citroën’s other models. Its plasticky, minimalist interior, combined with its sluggish performance, made it a tough sell.

For Americans? Forget it. They’d be confused from the get-go. With its strange looks and underpowered engine, it wouldn’t even come close to their standards of performance or style. And don't even think about creature comforts—this thing has a spartan interior, limited visibility, and quirky French electrical systems that would confuse even a trained mechanic.

Fun fact: Despite its odd reputation, the Oltcit had some success in countries like Romania and France. It was a cheap car for the masses, though far less reliable than its Citroën counterparts.

Target audience: Citroën enthusiasts, Eastern Bloc car collectors, and people who enjoy owning truly rare, forgotten cars. Absolutely not for anyone who thinks their car should accelerate quickly or function reliably.

Dacia 1300

Dacia 1300

The Dacia 1300 is essentially a Romanian-licensed copy of the Renault 12, and it became the people's car in Romania from the 1970s onwards. For Eastern Bloc standards, the Dacia 1300 was a relatively modern car when it was introduced. It had front-wheel drive, a solid suspension, and a design that felt almost Western—until you got inside, that is. The interior was stripped down to the basics, and as the years went by, the car’s production quality plummeted. By the 1980s, the Dacia had become a joke for its shoddy craftsmanship and dubious reliability.

Your average American would take one look at this and laugh. They wouldn’t even understand how something so basic could still be called a car. The Dacia 1300 lacks all the fancy electronics and driver aids they’re used to. No power steering, no plush seats, just a simple engine and the bare necessities to get you from point A to point B. In Romania, though, it was a symbol of mobility and freedom.

Fun fact: Despite its reputation, the Dacia 1300 was an incredibly important car in Romania, giving millions of people the ability to own a vehicle for the first time. It remained in production for decades with minimal changes.

Target audience: Budget-conscious classic car fans, those interested in Romanian automotive history, and anyone who enjoys DIY car repairs. Not for people who expect reliability or comfort.

Tatra 603

Tatra 2-603

The Tatra 603 was a Czechoslovakian luxury sedan designed for government officials, and it’s easily one of the most iconic cars of the Eastern Bloc. It had a rear-mounted, air-cooled V8 engine, which gave it a distinctive look and weight distribution. The 603 wasn’t exactly fast, but it was smooth, and its streamlined design was incredibly advanced for its time. It had plenty of room for high-ranking officials to spread out in the back, and it was built to last.

An American might appreciate the space and style of the Tatra 603 but would be totally lost when it came to the driving experience. With a rear-mounted engine, heavy handling, and no modern driver aids, it’s not the kind of car you take to the grocery store. And forget about the luxury you’d find in today’s American limousines—the Tatra 603 feels more like a floating tank than a cushy ride.

Fun fact: The Tatra 603 was considered a symbol of prestige in the Soviet bloc, used exclusively by party officials and high-ranking diplomats. It was never sold to the public.

Target audience: Collectors of luxury Soviet-era cars, lovers of air-cooled engines, and those who want a piece of Cold War history in their garage. Definitely not for anyone who thinks luxury is synonymous with gadgets.

Tatra 613

Tatra 613-3.

The Tatra 613 was the successor to the 603 and took luxury to the next level, at least by Eastern Bloc standards. It had a rear-mounted, air-cooled V8 engine and was designed as a prestige car for high-ranking officials. Unlike the bulky 603, the 613 was sleeker, faster, and more refined—though still far from anything a spoiled American would consider luxurious. The handling could be tricky because of its unusual weight distribution, and there were no fancy electronics to make things easier for the driver.

An American stepping into a Tatra 613 would probably expect something akin to a Cadillac or Lincoln—big mistake. Sure, it’s large and imposing, but there’s nothing high-tech about it. It’s a heavy, demanding car to drive, with no creature comforts. And as for the air-cooled engine? They’d probably have a meltdown trying to figure out how it works.

Fun fact: The Tatra 613 was so exclusive that only high-level government officials and members of the Communist Party could get their hands on one. It was seen as a status symbol in the Eastern Bloc, embodying both luxury and power.

Target audience: Collectors of Soviet luxury cars, lovers of big, powerful sedans, and anyone who appreciates unique engineering. Definitely not for anyone who thinks luxury is all about smooth rides and gadgets.

Morris Marina

Also this thing belongs here.

The Morris Marina, produced by the troubled British Leyland from 1971, was Britain’s attempt to create a simple, affordable family car. On paper, it seemed like a sensible enough vehicle. It had a basic design and relied on tried-and-true engineering, but in reality, the Marina was a mess of poor build quality, outdated technology, and questionable reliability. It was notorious for having handling so bad that it became the butt of jokes even in the UK, where people are used to tolerating all kinds of eccentric designs.

While technically not from the Eastern Bloc, the Marina feels like it belongs there. It was designed by a company run almost like a socialist collective: British Leyland was nationalized, deeply inefficient, and operated by unions that stifled innovation. The result was a car that felt decades behind even its lackluster contemporaries. The handling was atrocious—thanks to its outdated suspension system—and if you took a corner too fast, you might just end up on your roof. The engine, while functional, was underpowered and noisy, offering the driver nothing but frustration and rattling sensations.

Americans would absolutely loathe the Morris Marina (It was actually imported there as Austin Marina). Imagine a typical American, used to their cushy, insulated SUVs with automatic transmissions, suddenly confronted with this tin can. They’d complain about the sluggish acceleration, the uncomfortable seats, and the fact that turning the car felt like wrestling a bear. There’s no infotainment, no air conditioning, and no soul—just a car that’s as unrefined as it gets.

Fun fact: The Marina became notorious in the UK as one of the worst-handling cars ever built, to the point where it was routinely mocked on the TV show Top Gear, where they repeatedly destroyed it for sport.

Target audience: Ironically, collectors of terrible cars or fans of British industrial decline. The Marina is for someone who wants to own a piece of British history—but only the kind of history that makes you wince. Definitely not for anyone who enjoys driving, comfort, or reliability.

Comprehensive Automotive Reference Source