Where am I?
We have forgotten to fulfil local superstition and pay homage to the benevolent "Porcellino" in order to return to the city. Time is short, our plane leaves in three hours, panic is setting in. We hurtle through the terracotta coloured streets, past Renaissance palaces and the murky city river. As we swing round one final corner, there, basking in the market place, lies the great piglet himself - his proud nose glittering in the sunlight.