Dialogue: Stuff the state, forget rules and learn to lighten up

DON DONOVAN* says Italians' disregard for authority and regulation might contain a lesson for New Zealanders.

I've just come home from a month of late summer sunshine in Italy. Marvellous.

One of the more endearing features I observed in the Italians was their absolute disregard for the rules. In a country with even more strictures than New Zealand, nobody takes the slightest notice of them.

Thus, even in the peaceable medieval walled town of Barga in northern Tuscany, where we stayed with old friends, we found cars left in "absolutely forbidden" areas, on footpaths, outside all the prescribed allotments of the formal pay-and-display carparks (where nobody pays or displays and, anyway, the machine doesn't work), and on pedestrian crossings (upon which heaven help you if you think you have right-of-way).

Crash helmets? Riders of the buzzing, blue-smoke two-strokes wear them only if they're a fashion statement.

Like a newly shorn sheep, I gambolled our rented Peugeot down the A1 autostrade at over 140 km/h perfectly aware that I was exceeding the limit and relishing the almost forgotten joy of high speed secure in the knowledge that no authority - not the carabinieri, the polizia nor the polizia stradale (highway police) - would rein me in.

Meanwhile, in the outside lane the mean machinery was passing us at what seemed like twice our speed, the wind of their passing setting the occasional 100 km/h restriction signs wobbling on their poles.

In my only driving lapse, I turned up a quiet country lane into the path of what would have been opposing traffic, had there been any. I managed to do this in front of a splendidly liveried policeman. Did he book me? No, he just stood with his hands on his hips, laughed and sent me on my way with a nudge of his head as he took another drag of his cigarette.

On the train returning us from Florence to the olive-oil town of Lucca, the inspector mildly chided me for having mistakenly paid only for a one-way group ticket for our party of six. With the magnanimity and broad flourish only available from an officer of Italian State Railways, he not only didn't fine me or haul me before the authority, he smiled, dismissed my delinquency with an operatic gesture and invited us to enjoy the rest of our journey without a care. "Break the rules, my dear chap," he seemed to say, "we all do."

Italian cigarette packets carry two health warnings, one general, the other specific to cardiovascular threats. They are dire; and there are just as many no-smoking areas designated in public places as there are in New Zealand. But nobody appears to care and it seems that everybody smokes.

Much as I dislike smoking, I adore the way the Italians make up their own minds about these things; stuff the state. Mind you, when you consider that Italy has had more governments than there have been years since the end of the Second World War, the individual must rely upon his own judgment.

National attitudes are just a consensus of all those at local level, so considering the ordinary everyday propensity to flout commands, it's not surprising that Italy as a nation has no difficulty signing up to the regulatory codes of the European Union.

Where Britain, with its hard-edged Anglo-Saxon ethic, agonises about the erosion of its sovereignty if it signs up to compliance with the EU's strictures, Italy just signs, gets the benefits and changes nothing.

When the EU decrees that apples will be of a certain variety, size and shape, or that condoms will conform to strict dimensions, the Italians say, "Yes, of course, we'll do that," and then continue as before, breaking the EU's rules with impunity.

In my little renegade town of Barga they have already benefited handsomely from EU handouts, with which they have earthquake proofed and cosmetically upgraded public buildings, including two schools and the 10th-century cathedral.

Being seasoned rule-breakers, they know that the clumsy organisation of the EU is such that the bureaucrats who check upon compliance never associate with those who hand out the money.

Yes, it was certainly refreshing to experience the freedom, and by the end of the month I was just as willing as any local to park the car over a fire hydrant. But, in truth, I don't think I could have stood it for too much longer. Those rules get broken because there's so great a pressure of people upon facilities that are barely able to cope that society wouldn't get by if conformity was too rigid.

Looking back, I would say that I'd be more comfortable if Italy were to tighten up. But those days in the sunshine have left me, at the same time, wishing that New Zealand would lighten up.

As an aside, I bought two America's Cup sweatshirts before I left New Zealand, thinking that any Italian who saw one of them would immediately recognise the symbol and want to buy it from me. No such luck.

Only one man recognised it. He was a restaurant owner in Abetone, the ski resort up in the Apennine Ranges, who told me he had a yacht at Punta Ala where Luna Rossa comes from.

He pointed at the embroidered badge on my chest and asked me if I was a member of the crew. I modestly told him not quite. He then asked me about "Cut, " and when I didn't comprehend, he went out the back and got an Italian yachting magazine, which he opened and pointed to a picture of Russell Coutts - "Cut." I read a little of the text; in Italian it described Coutts and Butterworth as Australians.

Oh well, I guess the Italians would happily drive their Alfas across the Sydney Harbour Bridge to Auckland without any regard for speed limits. It would be all the same to them. Rules? Precision? Who cares.

* Don Donovan is an Auckland writer.