82 Weather

  Prague awoke under a veil of mist, the kind that clings to the Vltava River and wraps itself around the city’s spires like a whispered secret. The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves and the distant promise of woodsmoke. The temperature hovered around 12°C (54°F), a gentle chill that hinted at the changing season. The sky, a pale canvas of gray, seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for the sun to make its grand entrance. It was a day that felt suspended in time, a perfect blend of melancholy and beauty that only Prague could conjure. By mid-morning, the mist began to lift, revealing a city bathed in soft, golden light. The sun, though not yet strong enough to warm the cobblestones, cast long shadows across the streets, illuminating the Gothic and Baroque facades that lined the Old Town. The breeze, cool and steady, carried with it the faint sound of church bells, their melodic tolling echoing through the narrow alleys. It was the kind of day that ...

  The city of Edinburgh awoke to a sky painted in hues of gray, a canvas brushed with the soft strokes of an overcast morning. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and the promise of rain. The weather forecast had predicted a high of 12°C (54°F) with a 70% chance of precipitation, and as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, it was clear that the day would be one of those quintessentially Scottish days—where the weather was as much a character in the story as the people who walked the cobbled streets. The Royal Mile, the historic spine of the Old Town, was quiet in the early hours. The cobblestones glistened with a thin layer of moisture, reflecting the pale light that filtered through the clouds. The occasional pedestrian, bundled in a thick coat and scarf, hurried along the narrow thoroughfare, their breath visible in the chilly air. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the ancient stone buildings, a rhythmic accompaniment to the soft rus...