![]() The spooniness of the themers kind of falls apart as the themers progress. ![]() I love spoonerisms, and this one has a nice little twist with the whole spoon angle. Even reviewing it now, the puzzle feels hard hard hard. ![]() hoods "hoodies?" What fresh joke is this!?" Considering the grid is oversized and I was trying to solve upon waking, I have nooooo idea how I squeaked in under 7 minutes. Wrote in PASTY HOODIES at first because, as you can see, I had no idea what the theme idea was. Then I wrote in JOEYS but typoed LOEYS, which mean I kept seeing the *wrong starting letter* for JERRY CELLO (awkward in the non-possessive, but I'll allow it, I guess). It felt like forever before I got the theme, I had the better part of three themers and still nothing. A documentary about the find, Dawson City: Frozen Time was released in 2016. Library of Congress for both transfer to safety film and storage. Owing to its dangerous chemical volatility, the historical find was moved by military transport to Library and Archives Canada and the U.S. These silent-era film reels, dating from "between 19, were uncovered in the rubble beneath old hockey rink". In 1978, another kind of buried treasure was discovered when a construction excavation inadvertently uncovered a forgotten collection of more than 500 discarded films on flammable nitrate film stock from the early 20th century that were buried in (and preserved by) the permafrost. Paul's Anglican Church built that same year is a National Historic Site. When Dawson was incorporated as a city in 1902, the population was under 5,000. By 1899, the gold rush had ended and the town's population plummeted as all but 8,000 people left. It began in 1896 and changed the First Nations camp into a thriving city of 40,000 by 1898. Dawson City was the centre of the Klondike Gold Rush. Its population was 1,375 as of the 2016 census. It is inseparably linked to the Klondike Gold Rush (1896–99). Rothenberg is a good place to start.The Town of the City of Dawson, commonly known as Dawson City or Dawson, is a town in Yukon, Canada. For travelers, the challenge is to find places where you can be a part of a quirky yet lovable community…if only for a short visit. As I get to return year after year, it’s easier for me. As a guidebook writer, my challenge is to help travelers connect with real people. I marvel at – in Rothenburg – how easy that is. He concurred and marveled at how I am able to uncover the characters of the town. I told Mario of a wonderful hotel I found run by a man who reminds me of the Wizard of Oz enjoying a relaxed retirement. And in small-town German hotels when a family and the hired help stow their workplace hierarchy with their aprons and take out a special bottle of wine. It happens on the Italian Riviera when the anchovies are eaten, the dishes are washed, and the guitars come out. I’ve noticed that, for observant travelers, some of the best social moments combust among hotel and restaurant staff after a long day of work, and after most guests have said “ciao.” It happens in a pub after hours in Galway when the door is locked and the musicians play on. And he sprinkles a little snuff tobacco in our “anatomical snuff boxes.” For Gesundheit (literally “good health”), we sniff together. Together, we make a little basin (where our thumbs hit our wrists) on the top of our left hands by stretching our thumbs high. Norry was playing chess with Martin, the potter at the next table. On my last evening in town, everyone seemed to be at Mario’s. Long owned and operated by Anneliese, it’s now lovingly run by her son, Bernie, with help from his daughter, nieces, and their friend. Take the Friese Shop – cuckoo with friendliness, trinkets, and souvenirs – which has been open for more than 90 years. Businesses here are often passed down from generation to generation. At the AnRa shop, Anett sells her flowery clothes, but she also started an initiative called “Handmade in Rothenburg,” a coalition between 10 local business owners who meet weekly to support each other and collaborate on ideas to strengthen the community. I sense no competition among the town’s many shopkeepers. Every time I walk under her house, I remember the old woman who lived in the wall who loved showing off her WWII bullet wound. Marie-Therese sold kitschy German knick-knacks so enthusiastically that when she took me to her house for dinner, I felt like I’d entered the innards of a cuckoo clock. Spry Klaus, who runs a B&B above his grocery store, used to take travelers jogging with him each evening.
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