TEMU's 'flying car' is a drone with a seat, not a car

TEMU's 'flying car' is a drone with a plastic seat bolted on top

Four propellers, four arms and a plastic seat screwed on top. The 'flying car' being sold as a bargain is not an aircraft: it's a fat drone with a cheap brushless motor and a cage so it doesn't slice your throat. Calling it a car is overselling it. And don't trust the price: according to the estimate circulating in the thread, if the listing were real the thing would cost 2,000-5,000 euros; and if it's a fake toy, 200 euros and it won't even lift a cat off the ground.

How much does the TEMU flying car cost, if it really exists?

It's worth separating two scenarios. In the first, there's a Chinese manufacturer behind it, a real prototype and an assembly line: 2,000-5,000 euros, according to that estimate, and insurance is still missing, which as another comment points out could cost more than the vehicle itself. In the second, everything points to the classic ghost listing with a photo stolen from a trade fair: 200 euros, no warranty and it never takes off. In both cases, some argue that maintenance would be a money pit and power consumption is a mystery, because nobody has published what the thing burns through.

The complaint that in Spain you can't even fly a 120-gram drone

Here's the crux of it. The storefront promises open skies and the official map answers with overlapping layers. What isn't ZEPA is LEDA; what isn't CTR is LER, a natural park or a NOTAM. No matter which spot you check, according to that complaint. A 120-gram drone already stays grounded across much of the territory. And that's before getting into insurance, which according to another comment can be expensive.

The 90% thesis: municipalities that ban and should pay compensation

Some take the argument to the extreme: if an activity — football, cycling, camping, drones, photography, off-road motorbikes or playing the guitar — is restricted across more than 90% of the land in a municipality, that municipality should be taken to court and the affected party compensated automatically. It sounds like a wild claim until you open the map. In the 'countryside' around Madrid there are, according to their account, hundreds of square kilometres that at a glance would meet any reasonable condition for flying. On paper, almost none of them make the cut.

The problem isn't the drone, it's the land

The upshot of the discussion is uncomfortable for everyone. One participant asks, quite logically, where on earth you can fly such a contraption without bothering anyone. There's no clear answer. Between a total ban on playing ball and a drone coming through your living-room window, it was noted, there's a whole world called freedom. According to the other participant's complaint, on the official map that world almost never shows up as blank.

One detail remains that nobody solves. The conversation started out arguing about what the gadget costs and ended up arguing about what the land costs. The price estimated in the thread for the 'flying car' ranges from 200 to 5,000 euros. The price of the land you can't fly over? Nobody even asks.