Volkswagen’s reputation for reliability in Europe, especially for models before the mid-90s like the Golf and Passat, is almost legendary. The second-generation Golf and Jetta, in particular, are often hailed as bulletproof. This perception, combined with a sense of local pride, has cemented VW’s position as a top manufacturer in the EU. Even recent engine issues haven’t significantly damaged this image of quality. Growing up, I also believed in the solid build of older VWs, even if I knew modern models were on par with other European brands. When it was time to buy my first car, I naturally gravitated towards these classics.
In the spring of 2010, the allure of a summer road trip to former Yugoslavia took hold. Inspired by friends’ previous adventures, my girlfriend and I decided to buy a car specifically for the journey, hoping to sell it afterwards. Being university students, our budget was tight, but our travel aspirations were grand. Knowing the roads in Southeastern Europe could be challenging, we wanted a dependable car to avoid breakdowns. Perhaps naively, we ruled out French and Italian cars, aiming for something perceived as more robust.
My father’s positive experience with a ’93 Passat over ten years, with seemingly few major issues, influenced my decision. As a long-time admirer of the Golf II, I initially focused my search there. However, fate led me to a 1990 Jetta 1.3. This wasn’t just any Jetta; it boasted a modest 55 horsepower and a staggering 270,000 kilometers on the clock. For most buyers, that mileage would be a red flag, but my youthful enthusiasm ignored the warning signs. I convinced myself that the car could handle the trip, as it appeared to be in decent condition and drove reasonably well. Besides, the plan was to sell it after the summer anyway. The excitement of owning my first car overshadowed any practical concerns. It was a classic case of youthful optimism versus automotive reality, a lesson I would soon learn the hard way.
I purchased the Jetta 1990 for €900, and the feeling of first car ownership was genuinely exhilarating. Suddenly, freedom was tangible, the open road was calling, even if just for a summer. No matter how many cars you own later in life, that first one holds a unique, irreplaceable significance.
Initially, the car seemed fantastic. The 1.3-liter engine wasn’t a powerhouse, but the well-chosen gear ratios made it surprisingly nimble around town, especially if you knew how to work the gears. The gear shifting itself took some practice, but once mastered, it was smooth. The square bumpers amplified its boxy, brick-like appearance, which I found appealing – it wasn’t your typical run-of-the-mill car. Vintage reviews often praised the Golf and Jetta’s handling, and this 1990 Jetta still retained that agility. It felt remarkably responsive on both smooth highways and bumpy backroads.
Like many cars of that era, power steering was absent. However, with its light weight of just 870kg, it wasn’t missed. In fact, the lack of power steering arguably enhanced the driving experience, adding to the direct feel. It even featured a “sports” steering wheel, offering good grip within an interior that was spartan yet surprisingly spacious. The trunk was impressively large, capable of swallowing a considerable amount of cargo, or, more realistically for a student, cases of beer. The comfortable seats and responsive handling made it feel like a perfect fit. This Jetta 1990 felt solid, seemingly rust-free – everything I had been led to believe about the legendary VW build quality. Or so I thought.
While Volkswagen had introduced fuel-injected engines well before 1990, particularly in North America, the European market in the eighties largely relied on older carbureted engines. The most common petrol engines for the Golf and Jetta were the 1.3, 1.6, and 1.8-liter variants. The 1.8 was often considered the best all-rounder: offering the most power, durability, and surprisingly, even better fuel economy in real-world driving. This engine, albeit fuel-injected, also powered my dad’s Passat. The 1.6-liter engine remained a basic, low-tech option for many years until the arrival of the TSI engines. The 1.3-liter engine in my 1990 Jetta was an early example of the fuel-injected version, converted in 1990. As I would soon discover, while the older carbureted 1.3 was known for its robustness, the fuel-injected version proved to be susceptible to electrical gremlins.
The engine started developing hiccups. It stalled more and more frequently, becoming increasingly jerky until driving became a nerve-wracking experience. Admittedly, my mechanical knowledge was limited. While I could troubleshoot some basic issues, I knew this problem was beyond my DIY skills. A trip to the workshop was inevitable. This was hardly the ideal start to car ownership for a budget-conscious student.
The workshop, part of a chain my family had used for years, initially kept the car untouched for almost a week, prioritizing more profitable jobs. When I finally got the Jetta 1990 back, the invoice revealed they had only performed the most basic of fixes: replacing the spark plugs. I was presented with a hefty bill and a condescending lecture from the service advisor, but the engine problem remained completely unresolved. Furious and frustrated, I left the workshop, vowing never to return.
With the car barely drivable, our summer road trip plans were dashed. We salvaged some of our vacation by finding cheap flights to Italy instead. I attempted to tinker with the Jetta 1990 myself, and my parents unsuccessfully tried to reason with the seller, who conveniently failed to mention the pre-existing engine issue (despite its presence in the service history). I then took it to another workshop. This new workshop diagnosed a more complex electrical problem and proposed a solution, but couldn’t guarantee its success. Reluctant to sink more money into potentially fruitless repairs, I declined. The realization hit me: I had bought a lemon.
My usage of the Jetta 1990 dwindled. Adding insult to injury, it was broken into. Golfs and Jettas of this era are notoriously easy targets for thieves. Someone attempted to steal it for a joyride but failed, damaging the steering column and dashboard in the process. The car, already suffering from engine problems, now looked even worse. Eventually, I just wanted to get rid of it. My relationship with my girlfriend ended around the same time, and I finally managed to sell the Jetta to a trader who planned to export it to Western Africa, a common destination for aging European cars. Despite all the headaches, I felt a pang of regret as I watched it drive away, especially imagining its final destination.
The selling price, after some haggling from the trader (“It’s not a 1.5? Sorry, I can’t offer the initial price”), was a mere €300. Even splitting the loss with my ex-girlfriend, the financial hit was greater than anticipated. However, the experience wasn’t without its lessons. I learned not to let enthusiasm cloud judgment, never to go car shopping alone, to thoroughly check a car’s history, and to be prepared to walk away if something feels wrong. I also learned to look beyond a car’s reputation; even a brand with a strong quality image can have its share of problematic vehicles, especially at that age. Expecting an old car to be trouble-free is unrealistic; there will always be maintenance costs and effort involved. Most older cars are sold for a reason. Making a mistake in the used car market can have real consequences. It was a harsh but valuable lesson in coming of age.
Shortly after, my sister and I inherited our grandfather’s Volvo 850, a vastly superior car and a story for another time. Today, we co-own another VW group car, a Seat Ibiza 1.2. Driving it for the first time, I was struck by a sense of familiarity, a faint echo of that old Jetta 1990. You just hop in, drive off, and feel instantly comfortable. The seating position is higher, but the overall feeling is similar, including that direct steering. However, this time, I approached car ownership with much more caution and realistic expectations. The Ibiza has had its share of minor issues, but this time, I’m prepared.
Despite all the problems, frustrations, misplaced expectations, and financial losses, I still look back on that Jetta 1990 with a certain fondness. I often wonder if it’s still running somewhere in Africa. There truly is nothing quite like your first car, even if it’s a flawed, temperamental, and ultimately unreliable classic.
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