Seat Ateca vs the rivals

Millennia from now, archaeologists will be able to construct a pretty accurate synopsis of 21st-century mankind when they unearth the fossils of crossovers. Some will incorrectly assume that early Noughties mankind needed ground clearance and part-time all-wheel drive to escape the ever-rising sea levels and erosion caused by civilisation driving towering, obese cars.

Astute Tony Robinsons of the year 3000 will link that tallness with our ageing population, unable to lower their creaking frames into a “hatchback”. Whatever that was. Mollycoddled 21st-century families valued a sensation of safety, and of communication with primitive handheld jukeboxes, they’ll realise upon observing adaptive AWD and several hundred USB ports. Few machines sum up modern life as succinctly as the crossover. And no section of the entire car market is growing in popularity as quickly.

Images: Mark Riccioni

This article was originally published in issue 289 of Top Gear magazine

It’ll swell a bit quicker now that Seat’s overlords have chucked some pocket money and hand-me-down drivetrains its way, plus the sharp pencil and geometry equipment Volkswagen used to draw the squared-off Tiguan MkII. The handsome result is the triangular Ateca, featuring a tailgate craggier than the climbing wall marketing folks dearly hope owners will attend via their lifestyle activity vehicle. 

The sequel to the car that established Kia as an “Oh right they are serious about making decent cars” force, the new Sportage is here to demonstrate that despite everyone being caught on the hop by the demand for tall, bluff hatches, the eponymous Qashqai has been reeled in. Besides its mono-nostril face there’s little to suggest the Kia’s anything special, but is that a problem? We’ll find out. It never hurt the old Sportage.

Ford disagrees. Ford thinks XXL hatches that don’t stand out are like, just so lame, bro. What you need in your miserable Limey life is a full-width rear lightsaber, metallic Ronseal paint and sheer size that leaves onlookers gasping: “Since when did Range Rovers come in ‘Garnier Summer Glow’ livery?"

It’s a vast car, the Edge. And yes, a Kuga would be literally a better fit. But that’s a known – very good – quantity. The Edge meanwhile, still only seats five and uses 2.0-litre turbodiesel power like all of today’s contenders, but majors on huge space, swathes of kit and an aspiration to that other halcyon buzzword in car circles: premium. Interesting proposition: go a whole size up for the same money as a specced Tiguan. Have that, neighbours. 

It’s handsome enough to ramp up the “want one” factor, here in Sport trim complete with that quasi-4x4 must-have – the body kit – and 20-inch alloys. But the designer label mask slips all the way to the floor when you clamber inside to find not a single sop to its muscular 4x4 status. 

The Kia gives you a promising diff-locking button and the option of switching the traction control off, and thus instructed is the happiest executing wantonly juvenile donuts in a sodden quarry, if you’re asking. The VW and Seat both offer (flimsy-feeling ) rotary knobs for on-the-go reaction to changing terrain, weather and driver cockiness. Not by elevating ride height and locking diffs, but with traction control and throttle map trickery. More bytes equals more bite.

But the Ford? Not so much as an Edge badge. It’s just a Mondeo, solidly constructed but using a Sync touchscreen so obtuse Ford’s recently dropped it and replaced Sync 2 with – you’ll never guess – Sync 3. Fussy part-digital dials continue to outstay their welcome, aping what it would be like to find yourself on the flight deck of an A380 on final approach and trying to decipher which readout confirms the landing gear is down. 

Clamber into the rear seats and the Edge finds its niche. It is comically vast. Honestly, I think the legroom shames a Range Rover’s. But the Edge squanders its practicality advantage further back, inexplicably plonking the heavy luggage cover in the middle of the 602-litre loadspace. It’s joined to the rear seats by a cheapo tarpaulin that feels like an afterthought. That the biggest car is the only one with a tailgate that a six-footer can’t stand under without stooping isn’t great either. 

Having a Tiguan nearby exposes where VW’s Spanish outpost has to wait cap in hand for switchgear and materials. Ergonomically, the Seat’s perfect (showing up the VW for lax steering wheel and seat adjustment, leaving the Tiguan’s driver oddly perched upon the flat squab) and there’s no touchpoint or piece that appears to have been forgotten about – it’s all considerately put together. But it’s dour inside the most handsome bodywork in this class, and only scores points on the Tiguan with comfier seats and legible dials. 

See, this top-spec R-line Tiguan wields VW’s interpretation of the Audi Virtual Cockpit, and it’s made one hell of a mess of it. A Matrix overload of data fights for attention, as wildly fluctuating mpg readouts and range charts vie with speed readout, temperatures, incessant safety-brake alerts and nav. Reading the Ateca’s clear clocks is like settling down in a library with a newspaper after trying to read the subtitles on four different John Lewis demo flatscreens at once.

Slightly ahead of the Kia for headroom, tied for space (predictably) with the Tiguan and trailing the vast Edge, the Ateca’s so far staying competitive, looking smart, and ticking the quality and utility boxes. As a drive, it’s got the other three on toast.

It’s not just the cabin that feels ripped from a Leon. The Ateca stubbornly behaves just like a “regular” car, so it won’t be intimidating to late crossover adopters, but it’s pinched that priceless sense from early Noughties Fords of being far sweeter to drive than is strictly necessary. 

Jack the seat skyward, and the invaluable command driving position results, but unlike the others, the Ateca will also allow you to nestle below the windowline, if you like to feel enclosed in a car instead of manning a crow’s nest. It’s genuinely agile, resisting roll while riding more compliantly than the Tiguan (blame those spangly 20in R-line rims for the rumble across expansion joints and drain covers). The gearshift is a peach, and it’s the second most frugal on test, settling at 40mpg, with the VW on 42, the Kia 38, and the Ford 35. 

This 148bhp 2.0 TDI is a worthily sensible choice, though the Ateca could work wonders with the Tiguan’s 188bhp engine. Yep, these two share powertrains too, though it’s a pity Seat is cynically only offering the dual-clutch on the range-crowning XCellence 4Drive 190PS version, at a tenner under £30k. AWD Atecas run more sophisticated multi-link suspension where front-drive Atecas have a torsion bar bolted in, so the cheaper models could be a tad less deft.

Actually, the Ford needs more power, as it’s fiendishly sluggish with just 179bhp to lever 1,913kg around. Here’s a car that was intended to roam freeways with some lusty V6 doing the business, and it doesn’t take at all kindly to usurping that for a 2.0 TDCi. The equal most torque here (295lb ft) is swamped, regardless of your attempts to finesse the agricultural gearbox. And Ford has the temerity to call it a “Sport”. If you’re seduced by an Edge’s square-jawed form and metal-for-money value, the dual-clutcher with an extra 30bhp and 37lb ft is compulsory. Here, the spritely Kia blitzes it during most leisurely overtakes.

The Sportage makes an odd first impression. This fully kitted out First Edition (£31,645, now sold out, and replaced by KX-4 trim) ships complete with heated and cooled seats, heated steering wheel, lockable all-wheel drive and a fleet of blind-spot warning and anti-crash tech. But while there are no blank buttons, the entire dashboard literally reeks of cheapness. Huge swathes are carved from tinny plastic, particularly around the centre console and its Audi-ish captain’s gear selector. The Windows 98 jingle played on every prod of the engine stop/start button is rubbish too. TG’s eye-for-design Andy Franklin nails the Kia’s lacklustre handshake upon alighting, and remarking: “Wow, that’s horrid. Makes the VW feel like a Bentley.”

So, old-school Kia value, same-old interior moans. You could rightly expect a driving experience like the old Sportage, which would comprise a pleasingly deft chassis and a coarse, lethargic 1.7-litre diesel engine unable of outrunning its own particulates. Sportage 2 flips that on its head. The powertrain’s a bit of a peach, thanks to a new 2.0-litre motor that’s far less rattly than its predecessor. Its Ford-pegging 295lb ft is present from 1,750rpm through to 2,750rpm, and connected to £1,310 of six-speed automatic, it’s on the VW’s swift heels. Performance isn’t what we’re after, but effortless twist ’n’ go progress is. 

Less sorted is the Kia’s ride, which can’t reconcile 19-inch rims with inner-city roads, so the body jostles and trips out of sync with what the wheels are up to. You’d put up with it if it cornered as fervently as the Seat, but it’s more numb than an anaesthetised sloth. The only particular in which it takes the Seat’s trousers down is motorway slogging, partly because the ride smooths out, and partly because its engine hushes into the background (and wind noise) while the Seat’s less endowed motor grumbles and grouches. The Tiguan’s West Coast Customs rims are less of a bugbear at the national limit and it cuts the quietest hole in the air, but the chairs are flatter than the ambience at a shadow cabinet meeting, so you’ll fatigue earlier. Storming stereo, though – a match for the Edge’s, in fact.

Oh, the Edge, as a forgetful Bono might say. It’s easily happiest being used like a classic Yank tank, heading in an arrow-straight line at middling speed. It’s a cruiser, a four-wheel-drive armchair. And yes, it’s a size bigger than the others, so it’s allowed some leeway for not being as agile as the raised hatchbacks it’s tackling. But every other car its own size drives better too. This Edge Sport can’t transfer its GT plushness onto a mildly rippled road, and its adaptive steering that varies the ratio depending on speed (non-Sports do without) is dire. There’s an ocean of play around the straight-ahead at 70mph, but the wildly unpredictable weight and response below that worryingly mimics assistance cutting out. It sums up the entire car, bastardised for a continent it never wanted to serve, to maintain a reputation it wasn’t engineered to support. Unless intimidation, space and equipment are top of the shopping list, buy a Kuga. Or an Ateca...

In the distance, the Sportage finishes third, for being exactly average. It’s caught the Qashqai up, but the cabin naffness and fidgety ride relegates it from nagging VW’s empire. 

The Tiguan woos with a crisp cabin and a polished powertrain, but the latter shines just as brightly in the cheaper, zestier, just as spacious Seat. The vice-free Ateca is the crossover the next generation will be running deep into the ground.