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I have a parallel blog in French at http://anniebannie.net

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Europe

Brits gone wild

by Hugh Wilson

Friday, 08 August 2008

As officials in Zante hold crisis talks over the drunken, violent and lewd behaviour of UK tourists, we recap the most cringe-worthy Brits-abroad sins of recent years.
British revellers have been wreaking havoc in Greece, causing local authorities to call for action
Perhaps the mayor of the Greek seaside resort of Faliraki put it best. “Mercifully our clientele this summer is a wonderful mix of people from all over Europe who know how to peacefully enjoy their time…There are far fewer Britons.”

Oh dear. It’s a rather embarrassing fact that in large swathes of Europe – and, increasingly, elsewhere – the annual influx of British holidaymakers is welcomed by bar owners and dreaded by just about everyone else. During the summer months, the unsightly antics of boozed-up, lobster-skinned Brits make front pages from Majorca to Marrakech, Ibiza to Istanbul.

Last year, a Foreign Office report revealed the extent of our shame. In 2005–6, 1,368 Brits were arrested in America, 955 hospitalised in Greece and 6,000 lost their passports in Spain.

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I was a slave in Puglia

The correspondent of L'espresso

The correspondent of L’espresso
picking tomatoes in the field

by Fabrizio Gatti

Exploited. Underpaid. Lodged in filthy shacks. Beaten to death if they complain. Diary of a week in hell amidst the foreign laborers in the province of Foggia

The boss wears a white shirt, black trousers and dusty shoes. He’s from Puglia, but he hardly speaks Italian. To make himself understood he seeks the assistance of his bodyguard, a Maghrebin who is in charge of keeping everything under control in the fields. “Find out what this guy wants. If he’s looking for work, tell him we don’t need anyone, today.” The boss speaks in dialect and drives away in his SUV.

The Maghrebin speaks perfect Italian. He doesn’t wear any stripes on his sweaty shirt but it’s quite obvious that he’s the caporale, the “gang master.” “Are you from Romania?” A grimace is all it takes to convince him. “I can hire you. Tomorrow,” he promises. “Do you have a girl friend?” “A girlfriend?” “You have to bring me a woman. For the boss. If you bring him one, he’ll put you to work right away. Any girl will do.” He points to a twenty year-old woman and her companion, working on the conveyor belt of a huge tractor that is being used to gather tomatoes. “Those two are Romanians, just like you. She slept with the boss.” “But I’m alone.” “No work for you then.”

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