Here's a detail I love: the boot of this car simply says "2000." Not Flavia, not a trim designation. Just a number. When Fiat took control of Lancia in 1969, one of the first things it did was retire the poetic Roman-road nameplate the marque had used for decades and reduce its executive saloon to a bare displacement figure. So while the market and most enthusiasts still file this thing under the 2000 Lancia Flavia lineage, the car itself insists it is only a 2000 — and underneath that unassuming badge sits one of the strangest, most charming engineering recipes of the era: a horizontally opposed flat-four driving the front wheels, in a formal four-door saloon.
The last real Lancia
That layout was no accident. The Flavia was the first front-wheel-drive car produced in Italy, its innovative approach allied to Lancia's legendary standards of engineering and materials. Launched in 1961, it was a masterpiece from Professor Antonio Fessia, complete with an aluminium boxer engine and disc brakes on all four corners while most rivals were still figuring out the front pair. The 2000 was the final, careful refinement of that idea — the last vehicle independently designed by Lancia engineers before the Fiat takeover, and a direct evolution of the Flavia it replaced. Many of the faithful call it "the last real Lancia," citing a build quality the later Beta and Gamma lacked. It ran until 1974, with 14,319 examples made. What all that cleverness translates into on the road is a car that feels quietly, almost sneakily competent. The 2.0-litre naturally aspirated flat-four produces around 115 PS at 5500 rpm through a five-speed manual, and its road manners were exemplary: the Flavia's suspension carried over — independent at the front with a transverse leaf spring, a solid rear axle on leaf springs — expertly located and damped, matched to Lancia's "Superduplex" four-wheel discs and precise steering for a secure, relaxing car. The party trick, per period testers, was how thoroughly the front-drive disappeared; you could drive it a long way without realising which wheels were pulling.
This particular 1971 Berlina, offered near San Giorgio Canavese in Piedmont at €7,900, is a brown car with simple grey leather — exactly the dignified, slightly gloomy specification these things wear best, never mind the seller's cheerful claim of "Maserati-style class." The two things to obsess over are structural. Rust is the biggest enemy: early cars had no rust protection, and these bodies are so strong they can rust extensively before it shows, so inspect very carefully — wheelarches, sills, floorpan, rear leaf-spring mounts and rear chassis rails. The second is parts: if much of the interior is missing, beware, because replacements are very difficult to source, and access makes the aluminium flat-four genuinely awkward to work on.
Why this one earns a look
The case for the 2000 is really a case for scarcity of type. This is a defunct configuration — naturally aspirated boxer, hydraulic-steered, manual, analogue saloon — from a marque whose independent engineering ethos no longer exists, and with fewer than 15,000 built and half a century of Italian rust attrition, honest survivors are thin on the ground, the best clustered in dry Italy and among dedicated Lancia clubs. Values have been quietly firming as collectors reappraise the "last real Lancia" story, and this asking price sits at the sensible lower-middle end for a running Berlina. That said, at this age the brown paint tells you nothing about what's beneath it, so verify the history, run the numbers past a Lancia specialist, and inspect the structure in person before drawing conclusions — on a car this rare to fix, a proper survey is the whole game.
