The grand tourer was invented for a specific journey: crossing a continent in a day, arriving composed enough to go straight to dinner. It needed to be fast, but more importantly it needed to be calm.
That brief fits the long roads of the region remarkably well. Distances between cities are measured in hours, the roads are wide and straight, and the heat outside makes a quiet, cool cabin feel like the definition of luxury.
A supercar is an event. A grand tourer is a way of travelling.
A good grand tourer does not shout. Its engine is felt rather than heard at cruising speed, its suspension takes the edge off expansion joints without floating, and its seats are still comfortable in the fourth hour. There is room behind them for real luggage rather than a single soft bag.
Drive one out of the city at dawn, with the desert turning from grey to gold on either side, and the appeal becomes obvious. It is not about how quickly you could go. It is about how good you feel when you arrive.