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The Citizen, 2003-02-05, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 2003. PAGE 5. Other Views Loaf of pane, jug of Vino Bianco and thou A reporter from The Vancouver Sun called me up last week and asked me to name my favourite vacation. It was a simple question that I’d never really thought about before, and given that I've driven, flown, sailed and hitchhiked over a fair chunk of the planet, it’s a poser you’d think I’d have to ponder for a bit. Instead I blurted out ‘Tuscany’ almost before the reporter had finished the question. Tuscany. Specifically a town called Lucca. Very specifically, a centuries-old farmhouse/villa deep in the rolling olive groves about a 10-minute drive from Lucca. We stayed there with some friends about five years ago and I’ve never forgotten it. Don't think I ever will. If you like the bar scene in Whistler, the nightlife in Cancun or the electric thrill of the Vegas strip, chances are you'd hate Tuscany. It’s everything those places are not. A columnist for the Milan daily Corriere della Sera put it better than I can. Cesare Fiumi wrote: “It’s not that we’re rich. In fact, Italians earn less than just about anyone else in the European Union. Even Icelanders make more money than we do. But we know what to do with the little we have. Our ideal is to live in a little village surrounded by vineyards, where church bells ring every hour, the wine is made locally, and vegetables grow in the back garden.” If that sounds like an Italian version of some corny old Jimmy Stewart movie - well, so be it. The fact is, for two weeks that's pretty much how we lived - sprinkled with excursions to other Tuscan towns like Pisa, Siena, San Province ignoring police misdeeds Police in Ontario are showing less respect for law and order knowing the Progressive Conservative government will not blow the whistle on them. Most police officers do their jobs honestly and fairly. The latest example of the misdeeds of the minority came when a homeless man, who is sometimes a drunken nuisance, claimed nine officers drove him to a deserted Toronto waterfront at night and savagely punched and kicked him. He could not persuade police to charge any, so he sued the nine for damages in civil court and they retorted it never happened. But his fingerprints were found on one officer’s car, his blood on another’s boot and strands of his hair in a third’s gunbeit. The officers hurriedly offered him money to drop his case, which is equivalent to admitting they assaulted him. The evidence also did not provide a picture of police officers that will reassure the public, which gives them so much power and responsibility. One officer’s alibi was that he was drinking in bars, although he was supposed to be working. This reminded of revelations in a court five years ago that when an undercover policeman was stabbed to death, two officers who should have been backing him up were drinking in bars miles away. The public now has to wonder just how much time police spend in bars drinking when they are supposed to be doing such vital work. One defendant let slip as many as 80 officers often drink at the same beach from midnight through the early hours of the morning after finishing their shifts, not an attractive portrait of the leisure habits of those in whom the public places so much trust, and illegal unless they take out permits. The defendant officers refused to stand in a police lineup iso tfypir accuser could try to Gimignano and the living urban art museum that is Florence. Even Lucca, the closest town, is a marvel. It is surrounded by a massive red brick wall that was built when Columbus was still alive and Canada was a place to get codfish, beaver pelts and not much else. And I mean massive. The top of the wall is wide enough to land a plane on, with groves of full-grown oak trees, bicycles for rent and hundreds of strollers and cyclists at all hours of the day and night. The best thing about the wall around Lucca is: it keeps the cars out. Only police, emergency and some delivery vehicles are permitted within the walls, which means pedestrians rule the streets, just the way they did before the internal, infernal combustion engine came along. And that, as Martha would say, is a good thing. Because if Tuscany is the golden apple of Italy, cars and trucks are the worms in its core. Vehicle traffic in Tuscany - in all of Italy, actually - is ghastly and terrifying. There is no observed speed limit, pedestrian tourists are all but classified as designated game animals, and every Italian driver feels it’s his or her sacred duty to pass any vehicle going in the same Eric Dowd From Queen's Park identify them, a poor example when they expect other suspects to take this test. And in wiretap conversations between them every second word seemed to be ‘f------,’ also not an offence, but society would hope for higher standards. Police paying to settle lawsuits brought against them is becoming common. A month earlier police compensated a Toronto restaurant owner after officers with guns drawn entered his premises, banged his head, stole expensive booze and charged him with drug offences they later abandoned. In a second case they paid off a man they charged with drug offences who spent 18 months in jail before they admitted, in an affidavit, they erred, the details of which were kept secret. While the nine officers were being tried, other officers suing the Toronto force for discrimination revealed it has a policy of allowing police who are drug addicts to take rehabilitation rather than be charged. Citizens now have another fear that some in such key jobs are drug users. Individual officers commit offences at an alarming rate. In that same week, an officer in Ottawa was convicted of assaulting a woman whose head he banged on a car, a detective in Barrie was given a conditional discharge for theft and a policeman in Toronto was found guilty of sexual assault. But the province, which is Supposed to direction. It’s not that Italians are bad drivers - I suspect that they’re more skillful than North Americans. They have to be just to survive. The concept of the Sunday Drive never caught on in Italy. Every vehicular excursion is a replay ot the chariot race scene in Ben Hur. So how does a pedestrian get around? Well, it helps if you’re deeply religious, because just crossing a street in Italy is an act of faith. You can spot the North American tourists easily - they're plastered against the wall, peering uneasily at the river of careening metal in front of them, vainly waiting for low tide. Italian pedestrians have no such qualms. They just step into the street chatting airily, blithely ignoring their impending deaths. “You’ve got to act as if you have a right to walk in the street,” an Italian explained to me. Sure enough, the cars and trucks slow down at the last possible moment and the pedestrian is allowed to cross. But all of that happens on the other side of the wall when you’re nibbling at the piatto del giorno at a cafe in Lucca - or when you're sitting on the porch of a certain farmhouse/villa just a few minutes away, sipping a goblet of the local Chianti while dusk paints the hills and fields in purple, sienna and umber, and the fireflies emerge to arabesque through the olive groves. It’s not exhilarating like a Black Diamond run at Aspen. It's not swanky like the nightlife in New York and it lacks the jittery mainline energy of a blackjack table in Vegas. A country vacation in Tuscany offers none of those thrills. And that’s the whole point. supervise police, is not bothered enough even to keep a record of how many officers are convicted of offences. When officers are on trial, police colleagues commonly pack couftrooms to support them and impress or intimidate witnesses, judges and juries, block and shout abuse at media seeking interviews or pictures, which they would not do for other accused, and declare their colleagues innocent, when their duty is to let their trials take their course. The Tories, who inherently feel cops are tops in all circumstances, have not expressed concerns at any of these misdeeds publicly and if they have expressed any privately it is not showing any effect. The Tories also benefit from a lot of support from major police unions, which not long ago endorsed Ernie Eves as premier, and they are in no hurry to crack down on police excesses. Letters Policy The Citizen welcomes letters to the editor. Letters must be signed and should include a daytime telephone number for the purpose of verification only Letters that are not signed will not be printed. Submissions may be edited for length, clarity and content, using fair comment as our guideline. The Citizen reserves the right to refuse any letter on the basis of unfair bias, prejudice or inaccurate information. As well, letters can only be printed as space allows. Please keep your letters brief and concise. Bonnie Gropp The short of it Guilt later Sometimes it seems like we’re just not meant to enjoy ourselves too much. If it’s pleasing, count on the fact that it’s probably going to be bad for you. As I entered a movie theatre recently the enticing aroma of hot buttered popcorn assailed my nostrils, luring, seducing until my mouth watered. I fantasized about plunging my hand into the decadent delight, stuffing myself with its rich, golden flavour Then 1 thought about the butter. Well, not exactly butter but the hydrogenated, simulated butter flavoured grease they pour over the fluffy treat. Tasty as it is, you can’t eat that junk my conscience screamed, so I grudgingly settled for some licorice, unhealthy enough to soothe the rebel in me, but low enough in fat to remove most guilt. Life was so much fun when it didn’t matter wasn’t it? Walking home from high school, my friends and I gathered, like a scene from Happy Days at the local burger joint. Every day before supper, 1 indulged with a carefree disregard for fat or carbohydrates, for fibre or Canada’s Food Guide, juicy thick burgers topped with rich Cheddar, french fries swimming in gravy and peppered with salt. These I washed down with creamy milkshakes. Even at home I shied away from vegetables and fruit, whole grains or milk preferring high carb foods like macaroni and cheese. I was fortunate that like most of my generation, I was active. I walked where I needed to go, spent weekends skating oi cycling, not watching television. Thus, you can imagine my shock, when age slowed the metabolism, when children put fat where there had never been any before, and health experts suddenly expounded in detail why we are indeed what we cat. After years of enjoying what 1 craved, 1 suddenly had to start paying attention to what my body was lacking and what it should be lacking Of course, as everyone knows, this, like most advice these days comes with a lot of mixed messages. Cut out the meal, or eat a high protein diet? Carbodydrates for energy or are they too high in sugars? Good cholesterol, bad cholesterol. How much fat does our body need? Is a low calorie diet the way to a long life or starvation? Contrary to my youth, I have come to take what I put into my body seriously. I read opinions, I try to learn, but it never becomes less confusing. The only thing I can understand is common sense. Too much of anything is never a good thing, but neither is too little. It’s all about using your head. We know which foods are best, so if we care about ourselves at all we make the changes we can. And I mean really aren’t we supposed to enjoy ourselves at least a little bit while we’re here? I admire the people with such tremendous self-control that they never would dream of popping a brownie in their mouth or having pizza and beer for supper. But I can't help wondering if they’re actually having any fun. Obviously, the objective is to strive for as many healthy years on earth as possible but to forbid myself so many of the things I enjoy would sure make this time less pleasurable? i’m way too much of a hedonist for that. So, there will be times when I will eat that buttered popcorn, for no better reason than 1 want io and I’ll deal with the gudt later.