Dacia Duster long-term test: 8000 miles in the Romanian Defender

When the Duster was launched at the end of last year, the uplift from the second-generation model was quite staggering. But, given the low price tag, I remained sceptical of how that would translate in the real world.

But the Duster truly holds its own up close: it has a real curb presence, and while I wouldn’t go as far as saying it could outdo a Defender in this respect, there’s a similar feeling of awe here.

Our Duster is in mid-range Journey trim, which means we get a 10.1in infotainment screen with wireless Apple CarPlay/Android Auto and built-in nav, a 7.0in driver’s display, cloth seats (with Journey’s blue jeans-coloured accents) and some black cladding. Trim-specific features include automatic air-con, four-way parking cameras and 18in alloys.

You’ll need to pay an extra £800 for top-rung Expression trim for heated seats and a modular roof rack (for bike storage and such).

Our Duster has a hybrid set-up that combines a 1.6-litre four-cylinder petrol engine with an electric motor and a starter generator to send 138bhp and 151lb ft to the front wheels and which can achieve a claimed –and rather impressive – 55.4mpg.

Dacia also offers a full 4x4 variant with the less powerful mild-hybrid powertrain. I plan to borrow one and do some off-Tarmac activities, so stay tuned. Anyway, the most important figure is what all this costs.

Our Duster chimes the till at £26,700, which isn’t so cheap any more, but the value position remains. There is a lot of car here, and you’d be hard-pressed to find anything of this size and with a comparable powertrain for the same price.

An entry-level Nissan Qashqai with its e-Power set-up starts at £34,860, while a similarly sized Skoda Kamiq costs about the same as the Duster, but only as a 1.0-litre manual.

That £26,700 – around £350 a month over four years with £3k or so down – isn’t looking so bad now. I’m eager to learn more about the Duster. I’m shown around by product performance manager Matt Downing.

“It really is a great looking thing, isn’t it?” he says. It’s hard to argue. I’m a big fan of the SUV’s more rugged elements – especially the raised Toyota Land Cruiser-esque beltline. The new Dacia nose, which was introduced in 2023, looks great here, too.

Downing points out that the Y-shaped design of the headlights is repeated throughout the car, from the air vents to the door handles – a cool touch.

He also explains what the odd square protrusions are for (one caught my eye to the right of the infotainment screen): they’re part of the YouClip accessory system, which means I can attach a phone holder, a cupholder or a bag at any of the five points (seven with optional headrest attachment added) throughout the cabin.

Neat. I’ve got a few accessories on order… I’m now excited to spend some proper time with the Duster to see if it lives up to my self-imposed hype.

My calendar is filling up, with long slogs up the M4 and a trip to the New Forest already planned. Excitement really is building for living with what could well be the best automotive bargain on the market. I do love a bargain.

Update 2

If anything is going to test a meadow-skipping, hand-holding honeymoon period, it’s your first big trip away. How will you get on for an extended period in each other’s company? Will previously unseen cracks appear? Could what at first seemed to be your perfect match suddenly no longer be ‘the one’?

We’ve all been there. And so the time finally came for my first relationship-testing road trips with the Duster – fittingly in the run-up to my actual wedding.

The value SUV had up until that point proven to be a worthy driveway buddy. It had been easy to use in town and pretty comfy on my traffic-heavy commutes. But now for a stiffer test: 2000 miles of travelling over the course of a few weeks, involving my stag do, a cross-country birthday excursion and finally a 350-mile round trip for the big day.

We would be covering motorways, A-roads, B-roads and the odd town centre. Jitters? None at all. The foundations of our monthlong relationship already ran deep.

First, the Duster is spacious, with a boot that can swallow up to 517 litres of kit – perfect for a weekend away for four adults or a full load of wedding decor, suits and other matrimonial paraphernalia.

In the cabin, even with all five seats taken, it doesn’t feel tight, and there are enough cubbies for the road trip essentials. Sadly, it took all of five minutes on the very first of these journeys for something to appear on my radar: the speakers are a bit rubbish.

Normally I’m a podcast commuter and, at the weekends, a live sport listener, so music doesn’t really get played in the car unless a road trip is in effect. So when my brother chucked a playlist on, trying to set the mood for the stag weekend, it was sad to hear a tinny mess of noise rather than, er, the tinny sound of early 2000s pop classics.

Yes, the Duster costs from just £19,380, but I’d expect more from our £26,700 Journey-trim model: the sound quality in a new, £20,000 Peugeot 208 is much better, for example.

Anyway, our poor singing drowned out the poor speakers, so no real harm done. However, when the phone rang en route to Essex for some birthday celebrations a couple of weeks later, I discovered another issue: the microphone.

Trying to take calls at speeds of more than 55mph resulted in too much noise being picked up and the caller not being able to hear me clearly. Dipping below 55mph presented no issues. Frustrating, though – so much so that I’ve been looking at aftermarket solutions.

These long journeys also revealed that the Duster’s seats aren’t as cushioning as they feel on shorter trips. At six feet tall, I’ve found it hard to locate the perfect seating position, too, given the low roof line (my view feels obscured if the seat is too high) and raised floor (my knees are in my chest if the seat is too low).

However, most of these issues were instantly forgotten as soon as the month’s fuel bill came in: more than 2000 miles, four ll-ups and… just £260 spent. That’s 13p a mile, and it’s why the Dacia’s full hybrid set-up is the thing I’m beginning to love most about this car.

Yes, the 1.6-litre engine is a bit gruff at times, and the clutchless four-speed gearbox can hold on to revs slightly too long (and therefore be quite loud), but it switches between electric and petrol driving seamlessly and a 55mpg-plus return on any kind of journey is plain silly – in a good way, of course.

Plus, the Duster is just a great-looking thing, so it’s hard to stay mad at it for long. Yes, there are niggles, but no other car at a similar price point offers as much for less.

This was summed up by the new Mrs Rimell: “I love that there is a new car as big as the Duster that I might actually be able to afford.” And that’s just the point of a Dacia, isn’t it?

Update 3

It's a sunny weekend and I’m awake early, coffee in hand and up for an adventure. But while my normal go-to might be to jump in the sports car and blitz down some B-roads, I’ve got another idea in mind: let’s off-road.

While my Duster 140 is having a break in the workshop being fitted with a cool bit of kit that I will talk about another time – hint, it will be great for festival season – Dacia has handed me the keys to a 130. It has a five-speed manual gearbox, a 128bhp mild-hybrid powertrain and, most importantly for my Sunday jaunt, four-wheel drive.

Autocar photographer and former fellow south coast-dweller Jack Harrison pointed me in the direction of Corfe Castle in Dorset, which is where we now find ourselves.

Just half an hour from Poole, the landscape here is awash with green rolling hills as far as the eye can see. Heading down a narrow B-road, I turn onto a short gravel track, at the end of which I’m met with a large metal gate adorned with a sign that says I must shut it or the cows will escape.

It feels odd to be here with a car, but despite the odd walker staring quizzically at me, this is a perfectly legal byway I can carefully drive along.

There’s even a sign clearly saying: ‘Green Lane Association, byway open to all traffic.’ So I open the gate, drive through and close it behind me. We’re in. 

Ahead lies our first test: a slight hill strewn with small craters and a herd of cows. I twist the mode selector to Lock (to lock the central differential into 4x4 mode) and off we go. And you know what? This is a lot easier than I was expecting.

Okay, it’s hardly the Moab desert, but the amount of grip I’m finding with the Duster is impressive. Its light steering, which I’m already a fan of on the road, allows for much-needed quick corrections – especially when I go into a pothole that I didn’t know was there and which throws me in the direction of what looks like the chief cow.

At least the brakes are also working well. It then dawns on me that the Duster has parking cameras that work up to 12mph, and I could have used those for pothole spotting. 

Next up: some grass. I know, perilous. But it’s steep, and I can really see myself getting stuck halfway up. But once again I’ve underestimated the Duster. I know this isn’t the hardest piece of off-roading to tackle, yet the ease with which the Duster seems to dispatch Dorset’s grassy inclines is quite exceptional.

I breeze up and pull over at the top, feeling very kingly as I survey Corfe Castle below. As I get back in the car, I receive a funny ‘you shouldn’t be up here’ look from a couple of walkers, but given the heat of the day, perhaps it’s more a look of jealousy as I enjoy the Duster’s air-con-cooled cabin.

Hill descent mode on – just in case – and I reach the bottom of the slope and turn right. Ahead is a trail that is no wider than the Duster and a badly damaged track full of deep crevasse-like cavities.

Luckily, with a breakover angle of 24deg (that’s more than even a Jeep Wrangler has), I avoid scuffing the underside and push on through the next gate as branches begin chattering against the wing mirrors.

The Duster rides through the potholes, though, and while the gravel underwheel is compromising grip, there is still some to be found. Another gate leads to a steep gravel track, strewn with cows and with, concerningly, a rather perilous drop on one side.

While building the courage to continue a problem emerges: there’s no room to get out of the car to open said gate. As if by magic, a cyclist appears, and she very kindly opens the gate.

I thank her but when I go to pull gently away there’s only wheelspin. That’s embarrassing. Try again: wheelspin accompanied by the smell of burning clutch. Then I notice the Duster has defaulted back to its normal driving mode and unlocked the central diff after I switched it off momentarily before the cyclist showed up.

I’m a dummy. I reset it to Lock and, as if by some more magic, I’m able to chug up the hill, eyes fixed ahead and very much not on the cliff edge to the left. I reach the top and, again, stop to admire another beautiful view.

This really is a great way to spend a sunny weekend. On my way back down I’m feeling really quite triumphant, but then my ego takes a punch to the throat as a ratty 2010-plate Volkswagen Touareg comes bounding up the trail I had ascended so carefully.

I move over so it can pass and the excited pair inside give me a wave as they crash their way up. That was definitely a wave goodbye rather than a wave hello…

After passing my herd of bovine best mates from earlier, I reach the entrance gate and get out to inspect the Duster: no scratches, no marks, no dents. Brilliant.

To think I’ve just spent my afternoon tackling an array of routes – some challenging, some steep – on a beautiful day with gorgeous views, and all while spending less than £15 in fuel (which includes getting here from home and back) in my daily driver that costs as little as £26,000 is, quite frankly, ridiculous.

While those more moneyed than I can afford to drive their Porsche 911s to their local circuit for a track day, rag it around and then drive home, this is my budget version – and I don’t need a new set of tyres afterwards. Next time I’ll just remember to take a picnic.

Update 4 

If a recently married man tells people he’s going to be sleeping in his car that night, concern, it seems, is the immediate reaction.

“No,” I tell them, “this is for fun.” Little do they know that our Dacia Duster is now fitted with a fold-out bed, a double(ish) mattress and a tent, all of which combine to create a set-up that is poised to turn even the most bougie of Glastonbury glampers a shade of jealous green.

Am I about to experience the future of camping? Is this the camper van killer? We’re all about to find out with a night in a New Forest field. We hit the first obstacle before I’ve even turned the engine on: there’s no boot space.

When getting the carry-on-camping accessories fitted, I didn’t really think about how much room it would all take up. Insert face-palm emoji here.

The new Duster has a pretty cavernous 517-litre load space, yet the Sleep Pack takes up the lot. There is some space under the bed’s supporting structure, but that’s needed for the tent itself.

Luckily, though, tonight it’s just me – the wife laughed and said “no thanks” – so my overnight bag, some food and basic survival equipment can go on the back seats. I arrive at my base for the night about 45 minutes later.

Despite the extra weight in the back, the Duster doesn’t drive any differently, and there’s no sign of the economy dropping from my regular 56mpg. It’s about 1pm as I park up. It’s clear I’ve drawn a short campsite straw, because my space has no shady tree coverage and the car’s temperature gauge is currently reading 38deg C.

No better time to start setting up camp, then… The first job is to make the bed, so to speak. I did carry out a small trial at home to make sure it was working. It all made sense, but my lasting impression was that this was going to be a bit of aggro. And so it proves.

First, lower the rear seats flat and push the front seats as far forwards as they go. Next, pull out the wooden bed base, which is heavier than it looks – mind your fingers, like I didn’t – and clip it into place.

Fold out the mattress, add some extra side cushions (to stop you falling into the footwell), attach the window blackouts, which magically snap into place, and… done. This time it was all rather painless – bar the finger.

Now, the tent. Anyone who has put up a tent before knows it’s never easy, but having pulled the Sleep Pack’s synthetic canvas house out of the bag, I can tell this is going to be a different level of misery.

Never mind pinning down four corners and popping it up into place; instead, one of the tent’s sides connects to the Dacia’s open boot, and I find out quickly why this is an issue: the open side means the wind can get in, and the wind getting in means the tent keeps trying to fly away, which then pulls out the pegs that are already (not) pinning it all down. Lord have mercy…

At this point I realise my campsite neighbours have formed a small crowd and are staring at me, wondering what on earth is going on. “It’s the future,” I preach to one. He’s not buying it. They definitely think I’m mad.

I manage to get three poles in – two for the main structure, one for the door – and then go about securing the open side to the car. More confusion. Which cord goes where? What does this bit do? And why is this bit not attached? I finally relent and read the manual, which cheerily tells me simply to ‘connect straps to the car’.

Thanks very much. I tie them to door handles, alloy wheels, door mirrors and even the bootlid’s hydraulics. About 40 minutes later the tent is at last erected and pinned down, the guy ropes are in place and the inner compartment – used here for my bags given I’ve got a swanky bed and I’m enjoying the overnight experience on my own – is sorted.

As you can imagine, I’m very proud. My neighbours are still watching, and is that envy I see in their eyes? Actually, no – they’re laughing at it. At me. I take a step back to see what the finished setup looks like and it’s clear what everyone is finding so funny: it’s the campsite equivalent of a proud four-year-old’s squiggly drawing of who knows what.

Regardless, I spend the night and, to my surprise, it’s quite a relaxing experience: this has actually bettered any tent excursion I’ve had previously.

The mattress and blackout coverings are especially brilliant. I wouldn’t, however, recommend this to the claustrophobic among you: I got really quite close to the car’s roof.

So to answer my earlier question: is this the future of camping? Is the Sleep Pack conversion a camper van killer? Er, not really, but it’s a fun idea.

For those of you considering taking the plunge, make sure you (a) have a garage in which to store the Sleep Pack when not in use, because keeping it in the boot has been quite annoying from a luggage space point of view, and (b) maybe think twice about the tent itself.

It looks bloody cool when it’s finally up, but getting there was the biggest faff of my life. Happy camping!

Final update

Cars are remarkable things. Over the past four months, I’ve travelled some 8000 miles on four wheels, completing a wide array of different journeys on various surfaces, and some other tasks besides.

This has included lugging five adults around the country; helping to transport an assortment of non-specific stuff for my parents’ 100-mile house move; driving up steep coastal hillsides and clambering over rocky off-road terrain; and getting a good night’s sleep in the boot atop a fold-out mattress.

Notably, I completed this wide variety of tasks in the same car, my Dacia Duster, and it was excellent at all of them – and on top of my efforts, Matt Prior took it on a European excursion.

When you boil all this down, the plucky SUV (ours costs £26,700) has proven to be one of the mightiest and most adaptable members of the Autocar fleet in recent times – and that’s at any price point.

As I write this, the keys to the Duster – christened Diego by my wife – have just been handed back to Dacia, and I sit here feeling like a close family member has moved out.

I honestly mean it when I say I’m feeling genuinely sad right now. So let’s reminisce. Firstly, what a looker it was. Compared with the car it replaced, only Will Poulter has had a better glow-up (The Bear fans, you know what I mean).

That high beltline, raised pro le and long bonnet (all of which you can see while driving) all contribute to a raw ruggedness. My compliments to Dacia design boss David Durand. Right now, only the Jeep Wrangler and Land Rover Defender 110 better it, to my eyes.

But looks aren’t everything: a car also has to be good to live with day to day. The Duster and I spent a lot of time together, much of it commuting. I usually find my 135-mile round trip from home to the office is something of a baptism by fire for most of the cars we have on test, and this time was no different.

At speed, the Duster delivered a fuss-free, comfortable ride, with a good driving position (found via manual adjustment) and great all-round visibility. Light steering made the off-motorway parts of the journey easy too. I also loved how the Duster felt like it had been designed with pragmatism at its heart.

This was exemplified by its ADAS button: a simple double-click instantly applied personalised safety settings, which for me would disable the lane keeping aid (which was quite poor) and the speed limit recognition (very poor).

This meant no tedious menu navigation to disable individual functions each time I got in, as is the case with, for example, today’s Volkswagens. But the Duster’s party piece was its hybrid powertrain.

It consists of a 1.6-litre petrol engine supplemented by two electric motors and is chosen by 75% of new Duster buyers. I averaged 56mpg overall – and remember, this is a 1.4-tonne SUV.

My brother is currently running a Renault Clio with the same set-up, and he is averaging the same, despite his car weighing some 300kg less. In real terms, this meant that when brimmed, the Duster’s 50-litre fuel tank (which cost on average £65 to fill) would give me four commutes and a bit.

That equated to about £16 per return commute, which is astonishingly good value. My broad smile and happy bank account helped dilute some of the SUVs small annoyances, such as the rather basic-for-2025 10.1in touchscreen infotainment, which would sometimes get glitchy (mostly concerning the sound).

Also the seats would become a little uncomfortable after about an hour and the poor built-in microphone made phone conversations pointless above 60mph.

Regardless, these were the kind of grievances I was happy to overlook given what was, overall, a bloody good package. So good is the package for the price, in fact, that the plucky Romanian SUV recently earned the title of the Best Value Car in the recent Autocar Awards – although it’s an accolade I’d have awarded the car myself regardless.