But who cares?
This is Verbicaro--and besides, it is not a pipe.

Monks smoke pipes.

Priests smoke cigars.
One more turn down a narrow lane--darkest and dirtiest of all the lanes, the cobble stones only showing here and there above the universal black puddle.

Yet the air is not foul and many a broad street by the Basso Porto in Naples smells far worse.

The keen high atmosphere of the Calabrian mountains is a mighty purifier of nastiness, and perhaps the pig is not to be despised after all, as sanitary engineer, scavenger and street sweeper.
This is Don Pietro Casale's house, the last on the right, with the steep staircase running up outside the building to the second story.