Datsun in Italy
A 1974 260Z on Black Plates

Datsun in Italy is a short history with long gaps. Nissan never built the kind of official Italian network it ran in Britain or Germany, so the Datsuns that reached Italy came in sideways — grey imports, private purchases, the occasional car brought home by someone who had driven one abroad and could not forget it. That scarcity is the whole point of this car. A Datsun 240Z or 260Z is a rare sight on Italian roads, and a good one on targhe nere (black historic plates) in Milano is rarer still. We came across this one a while back, admired it, and never quite let it go — which is reason enough to write it down.

This is documentation, not a sale. The car is not ours and the work on it is not ours; what follows is what the car is, read from its paperwork and from an afternoon spent looking at it closely. If you are hunting for a Datsun 240Z or 260Z for sale, our own stock is the place to look. This page is simply a record of a good one that got away.

Datsun in Italy was never an official story, and that is the whole point. When the S30-generation Z arrived in 1969 — sold abroad as the Datsun 240Z, then from 1974 as the 2.6-litre 260Z — Nissan built it for export in serious numbers, but it channelled those cars through strong national importers in the United States, Britain, Germany and the Nordic countries. Italy was not one of them. There was effectively no Italian Datsun network of the kind that put Zs on forecourts elsewhere, and so almost every Datsun in Italia arrived the long way round. Search Datsun Italia today and you find enthusiasts and survivors, not a dealer page — the market here was always private.

“The long way round” means grey imports and private hands: cars bought abroad and driven home, machines brought in by people posted overseas, the occasional example imported one at a time by an enthusiast who had driven a Z somewhere else and could not forget it. The upshot is simple arithmetic. In a country that effectively never sold the model new, the surviving population of Datsun 240Z and 260Z cars is small, scattered, and quietly prized — a genuinely uncommon sight at an Italian raduno (enthusiasts’ meet), where a good one draws a crowd that a far more valuable Ferrari might not.

Getting such a car road-legal and keeping it there is its own discipline. An imported classic must go through Italian immatricolazione (registration) and carry a carta di circolazione (registration document); to qualify for historic benefits it is entered on a recognised register such as the ASI (Automotoclub Storico Italiano) or FMI. That status is what unlocks period targhe nere (black plates) and, depending on the car’s age and region, a reduced or waived bollo (esenzione bollo, road-tax exemption). For an owner, the paperwork is as much a part of running a Datsun in Italy as the parts hunt is — and both are harder here than almost anywhere the marque was sold properly. Which is exactly what makes the yellow 260Z in these photographs worth recording. Which brings us to Milano.

Sources: Datsun 240Z/260Z production and export-market facts from the Nissan Fairlady Z (S30) record; Italian historic-vehicle registration per the Automotoclub Storico Italiano (ASI).

The badge on the flank reads 260Z, and it is telling the truth. This is the S30 that followed the 240Z for 1974, with the larger 2.6-litre L26 inline-six — a Datsun 260Z of the kind Italian enthusiasts call simply una Datsun in Italia, a rare thing on local roads. Crucially, it is a European-market car, running the correct twin SU-type carburettors that every 260Z used — fuel injection only arrived with the later 280Z from 1975 — and it is set up to European rather than US emissions specification, which matters to anyone who knows the model. Its documents record it as a numbers-matching car; we take that from the paperwork rather than claim to have read the stampings ourselves.

The colour is the first thing anyone says about it: a hard, bright yellow that suits the long-bonnet S30 shape and does nothing to hide in an Italian car park. The car wears period details rather than factory plainness — a front chin spoiler, slotted alloy wheels, the thin 260Z side stripe — the look many of these cars acquired in the 1970s and ’80s, now part of their character.

What makes this 260Z worth recording is not that it was locked away, but that it was used and then sorted properly. The owner ran it, found its weak spots, and set about fixing them — not in a single frantic restoration, but over time. Part of that was circumstance: sourcing Datsun parts in Italy is genuinely hard, precisely because the marque never had an official presence there. He struggled to find parts locally and took his time, waiting for the right component rather than bodging in the wrong one. The result is a driver that has had the attention of a show car without losing the honesty of one that actually gets driven.

The mechanical list is a proper one. The engine came out and was overhauled. The differential was rebuilt, and the propshaft universal joints renewed — the kind of driveline work owners often postpone and this one did not. The clutch was addressed at the same time, the sort of job that only makes sense with the engine already out.

• L26 engine removed and overhauled
• Differential rebuilt; propshaft universal joints renewed
• Complete rewire with a fresh loom
• Interior retrimmed — new vinyl seats, new carpet, flocked dashboard, wood-rim wheel
• Period details: front chin spoiler and gloss-black rear window louvre

The cabin has been gone through without being over-restored: a flocked dashboard to kill screen glare, a wood-rimmed wheel over the three-gauge binnacle, retrimmed black vinyl seats and new carpet with quilted rear panels. A driver’s interior — tidy and hard-wearing, not a show piece.

Behind the cabin, the hatch glass carries a gloss-black rear window louvre — the slatted shade that is pure 1970s S30, as much a styling signature as a sun-blind. On a yellow car it is unmistakable.

In Italy, targhe nere (literally “black plates”) are the old-style number plates — white lettering on black — that cars wore into the 1980s. To an Italian enthusiast they are shorthand for authenticity: a car that looks as it should for its era, not modernised onto current plates. A recent ministerial decree (D.M. 468 of 2023, operative from 2024) formalised a targa storica scheme, letting eligible historic vehicles register or re-register with a period plate tied to the car. For an S30 in Italy, wearing black plates is part of what makes it feel properly placed rather than merely present.

A note on honesty: the rules distinguish between a car’s original Italian plate and a historic plate issued on registration, and an imported car’s plate history can be complicated. We are describing what targhe nere mean and why collectors prize them — not making a claim about this particular car’s plate lineage, which only its own documents can settle.

This car is registered with the ASI (Automotoclub Storico Italiano), Italy’s principal historic-vehicle authority. Under Article 60 of the Codice della Strada, ASI registration is one of the recognised routes to official historic-and-collectible status. ASI’s own threshold is at least 20 years since first registration, with bodywork, chassis and engine matching the original and the car in sound condition — a bar a well-kept 1974 260Z clears comfortably.

Status also touches the bollo (annual road tax). Nationally, the full benefits now attach to vehicles over 30 years old; cars of 20 to 29 years get a partial reduction with the right certification. Milan, though, sits in Lombardy, which from January 2022 exempted historic vehicles over 20 years old on the relevant register from the regional bollo — a more generous line than the national one, and one that has been legally contested. The exact figure depends on the car’s register and the year, so an owner confirms it for their own vehicle; the point here is simply that an ASI-registered S30 of this age sits squarely in historic-vehicle territory.

Put it together and you have the kind of car that draws a crowd at any Italian raduno (enthusiasts’ meet): a genuinely rare Datsun in a country that never sold them, kept on period black plates, ASI-registered, mechanically sorted from the driveline up, and still used as its maker intended. It is not for sale and it is not ours — it is simply one of those cars that deserves to be written down. A Datsun in Italy — una Datsun Italia — done right.