by Franz J. Sauer
When Christian Nell and his team set out to restore a historic vehicle, they leave nothing half-done. He has built a reputation that allows him to take on only the projects that truly interest him. This has nothing to do with arrogance or pretension—rather, it is rooted in a deep sense of respect.
“That one here, for example, belongs to so-and-so, but they don’t want it shown, and don’t write down what it costs either, because you know, and then people say, ‘But I don’t really want that either…’”
It’s not easy to have a straightforward, informative conversation with Christian Nell. Every vehicle in the photos on his phone has passed through his hands, each has received the very best of his craftsmanship. And he gladly and proudly returns them to their respective owners, no matter what they plan to do with them. “I know no envy, even though I could hardly afford most of the cars I work on myself.”
And that is exactly why he is all the more irritated by the occasional strange envy directed at him. “People think that because we work on cars worth several million euros, we are arrogant or full of ourselves. But that’s complete nonsense.” Envy is clearly a topic in the industry, where Christian Nell has been earning his living for over 35 years. “Because the rule is: envy has to be earned.” But even knowing that, envy can still be unpleasant.
The condition shown in the photo on the left is achieved by almost every car that Christian Nell and his team take on for restoration. The work is done from the ground up; only once everything is disassembled can one see if it all fits. The original body of the AFM Type 47 was reconstructed based on just a few photographs. For this meticulous work, Christian Nell was awarded the Upper Austrian Craftsman Award.
As so often, envy toward Christian Nell is mainly a recipient problem. Because when the affable Styrian casually mentions a “Maserati around twenty-five to three hundred (note: the ‘thousand’ is left unsaid, but implied)” while referring to a car that is essentially an automotive corpse—one whose restoration will likely not be profitable—it’s easy to misinterpret his words. Especially since the restoration probably “doesn’t pay off” precisely because it will cost twice as much. Or is that how it should be understood?
The tall craftsman, whose pride in his hands is obvious, displays a refreshing directness when speaking about his work. Beating around the bush is not his style, something his clients greatly appreciate. In Christian Nell’s world, if a doughnut is a doughnut, it must be called that—not out of arrogance, but quite the opposite. Honesty expresses respect and ensures solid business relationships, where no one feels taken advantage of, regardless of the client’s financial situation or property holdings.
From the beginning: Born in 1970, the car-obsessed youngster was introduced early by his father to the art of bodywork. He received professional training at Renault, where his talent for working with sheet metal truly developed. “At home, we soon had big projects—modifying a R5 GT Turbo wreck into a convertible, rebuilding half of all the sheet metal parts. I love building bodies. From the ground up. That’s my gift.”
After completing his master certification, he joined a major restoration company, quickly taking responsibility for much, if not all, of the work. After ten years, in 2004, he made the leap to self-employment—with big goals, smart plans, and a healthy dose of confidence in his own abilities.
From the beginning: Born in 1970, the car-obsessed youngster was introduced early by his father to the art of bodywork. He received his professional training at Renault, where his talent for working with sheet metal truly developed.
“We soon had big projects at home—like converting an R5 GT Turbo wreck into a convertible, rebuilding half of all the sheet metal parts. I love building car bodies. From the ground up. That’s also my gift,” he recalls.
After completing his master certification, he joined a major restoration company, quickly taking responsibility for much, if not all, of the work. After ten years, in 2004, he made the leap to self-employment—with big goals, smart plans, and a healthy dose of confidence in his own abilities.
Initially, the deliberately small operation (which grew to nine employees over the years) offered only bodywork and painting. At the request of clients, the services were soon expanded to include full restorations of historic vehicles.
Although Christian Nell emphasizes that he did not poach any clients from his previous employer, a few sought him out after his relatively short departure—and soon found him. “Hartmut Kargl personally entrusted me with his considerable fleet, and because he was very satisfied with my work, he recommended me within the scene.”
Through another satisfied client—whose Ferrari 330 GTC Nell had restored after a minor collision—he came into contact with Helmut Zwickl and the Ennstal Classic, a friendship and partnership that continues to this day. It was bodywork specialist Nell who designed the legendary Gunther-Philipp Trophy for the event and produced it for over ten years. The award, notorious among its recipients (Peter Kraus, Herbert Völker, Dieter Quester …) for its bulkiness, was modeled on the old 1:4 scale wind tunnel car models from the 1930s. The attention to detail and quality of the sculptures (“150 to 200 working hours went into each one”) drew many admiring glances.
Historic cars—mainly restored BMWs—were also displayed at Ennstal Classic events, provided they were not already shining on the participant field.
An exceptionally rare Mercedes SSK from a highly prominent owner. Meticulously restored and reconstructed with great care, the car only came into Christian Nell’s hands after he had already completed several notable reference restorations.
Christian Nell has worked on vehicles from 28 different brands, but his most important relationship is undoubtedly with BMW. There is probably no 328 in the world of which Nell hasn’t at least heard. Meticulously, he once began noting their characteristics and details—today, his notes are a highly valued reference for BMW headquarters in Munich. He says it takes him less than ten minutes to distinguish a “fake” from a genuine car.
It was his personal admiration for the elegance and presence of the legendary 507 that brought him closer to the brand. After working on several 328s and a 503, whose restorations attracted attention in the scene, he came across his first 507—a prototype, a pre-series car. Initially, only minor corrections were needed—a bumper here, a sheet metal part there—until finally the “big job” lay before him: a complete restoration, returning the prototype to its original factory status. The work took a year, and at the GP in Gröbming, the car was driven by Christian Klien and Mario Theissen. It was at this point that BMW in Munich truly took notice of Christian Nell.
Numerous commissions from the headquarters followed. Cars delivered there for restoration were completed at Nell’s workshop. Among them was the “Elvis car,” a 507 once owned by the King, originally red, but previously raced in white by legendary driver Hans Stuck across various hill climbs. Today it resides in the BMW Museum in Munich—remarkably, in white, because the original owner valued the King of the Mountains more than the King of Rock’n’Roll. Countless 507s passed through Nell’s workshop, some as official BMW factory restorations, others through word of mouth.
Sometimes, chance plays a role in how cars come to Christian. This was the case with the AFM Type 47, nicknamed “Donnerbüchse” due to the thunderous noise of the 328 engine in the rear. Rumor had it that one was somewhere in Waldviertel, owned by a certain Valentin from Munich. Nell knew exactly one Valentin in Munich who dealt with cars—he called him, and it turned out Valentin wanted to sell the “Kraxn,” which had been racking up costs in Waldviertel.
It quickly became clear: the “Kraxn” had history. AFM stood for Alexander Falkenhausen Munich, a BMW-affiliated engineer and later father-in-law of Dieter Quester. He had built the car for the first post-war racing series, producing eight to ten cars under the AFM badge before returning to engine construction at BMW. The Type 47 (with AFM, the number always indicated the year of construction) had been made “street-legal” in the early 1950s with a Barchetta body and had traveled the world. When it arrived at Nell in 2016, the plan was not only a full restoration to its original 1947 condition, but the new owner wanted to race it with Dieter Quester at Goodwood.
But first, a year of research was needed to carry out the restoration. Only with the help of BMW Historic expert Rainer Simons did they locate a long-lost “diary” of the car, meticulously recording all races it had competed in along with technical data (oil temperature, power, everything). Four photos also survived. In Nell’s words: “We had to rebuild the body according to those four photos.”
All original parts, as can be seen from the markings and stamps. 95 percent of the original wooden frame of the 328 (right) has been preserved.
At first, getting the car into Goodwood was slow—BMW Classic didn’t push hard enough for the “non-factory” project. It wasn’t until Prince Leopold of Bavaria personally intervened in the UK that accreditation came through, faster than expected. With combined efforts, the car was completed in time to run at the legendary hillclimb, and Christian Nell was awarded the Upper Austrian Craftsman Award for the restoration.
Then there’s the mint-green BMW 328, a car particularly close to Nell’s heart. “It’s an absolute rarity to get a completely original car. This one was built in 1937, passed through various hands until 1960, then was de-registered and stored somewhere.” When a client came to pick up parts for his 507—by then, Nell was running a thriving, meticulously stocked online shop for historic BMW parts, with over 2,500 items in inventory that many thought impossible to find—he casually mentioned having a rare 328 “sitting around.” Nell’s interest was piqued, as one might expect given the desires of the classic car community.
When the first photos arrived, interest quickly turned into sheer excitement. A year and a half later, the car officially and physically entered Casa Nell. During the holidays, Christian and his son disassembled the car down to its smallest components, uncovering a treasure trove of originality with brushes and fine tools. BMW certified the authenticity of the vehicle, and an astounding 95 percent of the original wooden chassis was preserved. “We took our obsession with originality so far that every one of the 680 screws, every clamp—everything—was kept as original as possible. Disassembled, cleaned, reassembled. To me, that is sustainability.”
Christian Nell’s obsession with originality should not be reduced to the form, color, or mere functionality of parts. It runs much deeper. If only round-head screws were used in cars until 1950, then a 1937 328 does not get a newer screw, even if it would hold just as well. Or: when ordering a wiring harness for the car, if the delivered linen-wrapped cables are only original at the ends, they are immediately returned. “I had kilometers of original-spec hoses made, even though I only needed a fraction. But anything less wouldn’t do—the rest now sits in my attic and will someday be burned with me. Need some?”
A favorite project of Christian Nell (pictured above at the wheel): the mint-green 1937 BMW 328, decommissioned in 1960, with almost all of its original parts still intact.
If you try to dismiss this as mere obsession, Christian Nell quickly protests:
“Sure, you don’t notice it at first glance, not even at the second. But I know it. And I can’t in good conscience call it a complete restoration to original condition if I know there are modern—but incorrect—parts in it. My clients know this too. And they learn to appreciate this meticulousness,” even if it means covering the extra costs.
And now we’re back to money—a topic Nell doesn’t like to discuss, given the envy it often sparks. But I press on, asking directly whether a restoration at Christian Nell is merely expensive or very expensive.
“It depends. If someone brings a Puch 500 to us, it’s expensive. If we restore a million-euro Mercedes SSK, we’re cheap. Compared to a modern workshop, our labor costs are peanuts anyway.”
Now it gets a little cryptic. If the labor itself isn’t expensive, what’s wrong with the Puch 500?
“Because the ratio to the vehicle’s value doesn’t fit. One thing’s clear: I never compromise on quality. I don’t cut corners because I don’t want to ruin my reputation with cheap work. And when we start a Puch 500 by fabricating the floor pan instead of welding in cheap sheets”—at this point Nell shakes his head as if he had just eaten something foul—“the restoration cost will exceed the car’s value and won’t make the owner—our client—happy. And that is our top priority.”
Gradually, you begin to understand the Nell system, his arithmetic makes sense. Suddenly it’s clear why restoring the Maserati mentioned earlier would have been a loss from the owner’s perspective.
“Don’t get me wrong: I admire anyone who fully restores an Opel GT, an E21, a Pagoda, or whatever else for the money—that’s true respect. But it’s just not my thing.”
Does Christian Nell ever pick up a wrench if a client’s new X5 makes a funny noise? Again, he shakes his head like with the bad sheet metal:
“I don’t touch modern cars, not even my own. I hate new cars.” His definition of “new” roughly aligns with the minimum age for cars at the Ennstal Classic:
“When I train a mechanic, I tell them right away: you’ll become a good bodywork specialist if you pass your master exam with me. But you cannot work on new cars.”
There are good reasons why a “Nell restoration” now holds the same reverence among classic car enthusiasts as a Blue Mauritius does for dedicated stamp collectors. Last question: at what vehicle value does a Nell restoration make financial sense?
“I’d say for vehicles valued at half a million euros or more. Above that, it certainly increases the achievable profit. Below that, it gets tight.”
This “Alpine car” from the 1910s almost looks like a toy. It, too, was restored from the ground up, with its bodywork meticulously reconstructed.