from a letter to Charles L. Eastlake, dated February 16, 1829, by J.M.W. Turner

Now for my journey home. Do not think any poor devil had such another, but quite satisfactory for one thing at least, viz. not to be so late in the season of winter again, for the snow began to fall at Foligno, tho' more of ice than snow, that the coach from its weight slide about in all directions, that walking was much preferable, but my innumerable tails would not do that service so I soon got wet through and through, till at Sarre-valli* the diligence ziz'd into a ditch and required 6 oxen, sent three miles back for, to drag it out; this cost 4 Hours, that we were 10 Hours beyond our time at Macerata, consequently half starved and frozen we at last got to Bologna, where I wrote to you. But there our troubles began instead of diminishing - the Milan diligence was unable to pass Placentia. we therefore hired a voitura, the horses were knocked up the first post, sigr turned us over to another lighter carriage which put my coat in full requisition night and day, for we never could keep warm or make our day's distance good, the places we put up at proved bad till Firenzola being even worst for the down diligence people had devoured everything eatable (Beds none) ... 

*Serravalle del Chiento

from Journals and Notebooks: 1826-1829 by Washington Irving

... we were fortunate enough to arrive rather early for shortly after the inn was crouded with new comers who found great difficulty in finding beds.

April 28  We left Fiorenzolo this morning about sun rise, having been cautioned by Mr Morelli of Bologna not to travel in these parts in the dark. Indeed we had heard from others as well from him (Mr Morelli) that the country as you approach Milan is very infested by robbers, particularly after leaving Lodi. Between that place and Milan it is dangerous to travel either before sun rise or after dark, and very often at midday as at that time the peasantry are not in the fields, but at home eating dinner, which affords a good opportunity for the Robbers. Mr Morrelli had been robbed himself, in these, near Milan last summer.

We had sufficient proof that his information was well grounded, for between Fiorenzola and Piacenza we passed several crosses (in three places) nailed to trees near which travellers had been robbed and murdered. One of the crosses appeared quite new. In one place five crosses were naild on one tree, in another place two. The scenery was the same as yesterday except that to the right we saw the chain of Alps covered with snow, that run along the borders ...

from Of Those We Loved: A Narrative 1914-1919 Remebered and Illustrated (The Overland Route, 1918) by I.L. (Dick) Read

That afternoon we halted on the outskirts of a fair-sized town. The cold drizzle still persisted, and on leaning out of the window to see what was happening, we saw on the tracks below an italian sentry up at the train in a listless, dejected attitude, back hunched, carbine slung, so that he could put both hands in his pockets. Raindrops glistened and dropped from his moustache onto his cape. Thinking to ask him the name of the town, I proffered a cigarette and addressed him in vile French. The cigarette he took with a gesture of appreciation and, spitting vigorously, left me bereft of further speech. 'Say, you guys,' he ejaculated, 'this is one goldarned shithouse of a country, ain't it?' All crowded the window to hear this American son of Italy voice his disgust with things in general until such time as the train started again. The town was Piacenza.

from Writer's Diary by Virginia Woolf, 1933

Piacenza. Friday, May 19th

It's a queer thing that I write a date. Perhaps in this disoriented life one thinks, if I can say what day it is, then...

Three dots to signify I don't know what I mean. But we have been driving all day from Lerici over the Appenines and it now cold, cloistral, highly uncomfortable, in a vast galleried Italian inn, so ill provided with chairs that now at this present moment we are squatted, L. in a hard chair by his bed, I on the bed, in order to take advantage of the single light which burns between us. L. is writing directions to the Press. I am about to read Goldoni.

Lerici is hot and blue and we had a room with a balcony. There were Misses and Mothers - misses who had lost all chance of life long ago, and could with a gentle frown, a frown of mild sadness, confront a whole meal - arranged for the English - in entire silence, dressed as if for cold Sunday supper in Wimbledon. Then there's the retired Anglo-Indian, who takes shall we say Miss Toutchet for a walk, a breezy red faced man, very fond of evensong at the Abbey. She goes to the Temple; where "my brother" has rooms. Et cetera. Et cetera. Of the Appenines I have nothing to say - save that up on the top they're like the inside of a green umbrella: spine after spine: and clouds caught on the point of the stick. And so Down to Parma; hot, stony, noisy; with shops that don't keep maps; and so on along a racing road, to Piacenza, at which we find ourselves now at 6 minutes to 9 P.M. This of course is the rub of travelling - this is the price paid for the sweep and the freedom - the dusting of our shoes and careering off tomorrow - and eating our lunch on a green plot beside a deep cold stream. It will be all over this day week-comfort-discomfort; and the zest and rush that no engagements, hours, habits give. Then we shall take them up again with more than the zest of travelling.

from Through Italy with car and camera by Dan Fellows Platt, 1908

From Lodi to Piacenza, thirty-eight kilometres, we made good time. From Milan to Piacenza, and straight on, diagonally, across the peninsula to Rimini, the road, turnless and gradeless, follows the line of the Roman Via Aemilia. One wonders how deep a foundation exists under the broad but dusty modern highway.

Just before Piacenza was reached, we crossed the Po on a plank-covered bridge of boats, whose roughness gave us a good jouncing. We went first to the Palazzo Famese, a large building, now a barrack. The sixteenth century is writ large on this creation of Vignola. 

The church of San Sisto is interesting chiefly for the copy of Raphael's Madonna of that name, which replaces the Dresden original. Pordenone, a four-square artist who often fails to do himself justice, is seen in the church of Madonna di Campagna, in some mediocre works. The best of them, representing St. George and the Dragon, had never been photographed, so we had to make shift with our camera. A young priest helped to move some obstructive furniture, a kindness in line with other similar acts of a people among whom courtesy begets courtesy. The result of our effort was a photograph that is too poor to reproduce. The picture gallery contains several good works, among them a "tondo" of the school of Botticelli (a Madonna of the Rose-garden) and a head of Christ by Antonello da Messina, the eyes of which are remarkably sad and piercing. The Municipio, a building with some interesting windows, contains pictures that are not worth a visit. Piacenza's cathedral is very interesting externally and more so internally. Its Lombard style stands the test of a close acquaintance. The remains of early frescoes by unknown hands, which adorn the walls, would surely repay study. Research should add to the meagre data we have concerning them.