In Brittany, fog is not a visitor. It is an inhabitant. On France’s rugged northwestern coast, where the Atlantic wind never truly rests, the mist doesn’t drift in quietly. It rolls in from the sea, a silent, grey tide that consumes the land. It spills over ancient hedgerows, clings to weathered stone walls, and settles low over narrow roads like a shroud. When visibility shrinks to a few dozen...
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