Days Inn and Suites Collingwood
How has this hotel rated in the past?
- Meeting rooms/conference facilities
- Continental Breakfast
- Indoor pool
- Laundry facilities (self serve)
- Microwave in room
- Swimming pool
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TripAdvisor Reviews Days Inn and Suites Collingwood
Travel Blogs from Collingwood
... about- sort of in the way that a mortally-wounded beast can still deliver a retaliatory deathblow to its hunter. The victory of spring is thus ambiguous. A spiteful blizzard brewed in Collingwood yesterday afternoon. I was in town collecting provisions for my onward travel and so there I was yet again chattering of tooth and aching of hand in the bus shelter waiting for the last transit home. Town was deserted as it was Sunday and miserable and ...
... ones now, but who yet had so much sickness and hurt in store when they woke up to their mothers of all hangovers. Excess is always so excruciating, so expensive in told and untold ways. Things can transpire at night- such shameful, misjudged, cringe-worthy acts- that one can be left wishing the morning would never come. But of course, come it does. In the morning, we awake, we start again. In our house, we were always worried that, if we were to hold ...
... can be to remember the beginning of something at the very point that it draws to a close. Also about how nostalgia is like a curious sort of wasting disease and how the human heart can yearn passionately in silence forever. A curtain falls over a vista you have lived within, velvet and deep and true. The memory of what lies behind it can be thick and luxurious, touchable and heavy, but it is ultimately obscure. Sometimes muffled shadows move behind this ...
... something I wrote about once. So it is with the winter that is finishing. The old snow is now melting. Puddles expand into gritty lakes by the sides of the highways. Everything was frozen and then it wasn't, it was moving, it continues to transform. Everything is changing around me. The huge sheets of ice that have lain on the ground beneath my feet are rupturing, pulling apart and so I cannot trust my step anymore. And just as the ...
... a bucket-sized Americano and a fresh berry scone. I was dreamily writing long overdue cards to my family, when a brush of cold air from the street broke the train of my thoughts and I looked up. I couldn't believe it, for I found myself looking into the intense face of Mark Handsome, the bike extraordinaire and one-time, unexpected street conversationalist I had met just before Christmas. I sort of choked out a gurgled greeting, but he didn't seem to hear me, ...