When you drive a Volvo, no one ever asks, “How fast is it?” or “How much horsepower has this got?” 

It isn’t that no one cares; it’s that we care about different things in Volvos. The usual questions are, “Is it as comfortable as it looks?” and “Do you feel safe in it?” And finally, “How does it drive?”

So the answers, then, are: Yes, yes and very well. Over the five decades that I’ve known Volvos, they and the upper-end Germans have steadily converged in design, attention to detail, features and, to a lesser extent, price ($56,990, in this case). Where a Volvo Cross Country (AWD wagon) once slotted midway between a Subaru Outback and an Audi Allroad, now the Volvo parks right alongside the Audi at the yacht club. 

But it wouldn’t be a Volvo without some Swedish quirks. The starter switch is a knob that needs twisting, not a button to push. Accessing the computer menus means finger-swiping left or right on the screen—there’s no joystick or dial. The drive-mode selector is an odd little cylinder that has to be pushed first and then rolled. And when a modern Volvo comes to a stop, the transmission (8-speed automatic, not that anyone asked) locks the wheels; there’s no need to keep a foot on the brake. Then, to roll forward, we have to nudge the accelerator. 

That’s a safety thing, just like the immovable headrests on the front seats. Volvo knows that most of us raise our headrests way too far (which weakens them in a whiplash accident), so they’re fixed in place. And these high-back seats fit right into the T60’s graceful Scandinavian Moderne esthetic.

I’ve always written that Volvos can be driven fast, but not hard—meaning that they’re super-smooth cruisers, not testosterone-soaked, high-g force beasts. This sums up the mid-size T60 “estate” (wagon) perfectly.

Silvio Calabi has been reviewing cars since Ronald Reagan removed the solar panels from the White House. He lives in Camden.