The Grand Georgian - Blue Mountain Resort
How has this hotel rated in the past?
- Swimming pool
- Fitness/Health center
- Wheelchair accessibility
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TripAdvisor Reviews The Grand Georgian - Blue Mountain Resort The Blue Mountains
Travel Blogs from The Blue Mountains
... drifts of snow and we had to scramble home in ice storms. My love of winter comes and goes; it is ambivalent; it is partly made of hate, partly of awe; and it survives. It runs through me, this love, and is buried inside of me deeply, enduringly, like a beautiful white bone. I will always be a stranger to warmer climates, an odd creature of the North that looks out of place in sunlight. I will always yearn for battered mountain tops and the ...
... in the blue darkness of my cramped room. It was a strange thought; how vulnerable and oblivious a human body can be when it slumbers. I don't know how, but I woke up on time for coffee and peach porridge before heading back into work for my shift. The vast Canadian sky was filled with stars and unbearably beautiful as I walked down the deserted highways. I felt sorry for all of my housemates and neighbours and friends and acquaintances who were ...
... for good this time. In response, my supervisor said a rather cryptic, lovely thing that I didn't really understand the meaning of. She smiled and tilted her head and said, See you at the next location. I may not have entirely understood, but I liked the sound of that. It made it seem somehow as though endings were not really endings at all, or rather that the true ending would be a grand reconciliation, one day, in this world or one of the others. Perhaps ...
How does it always happen this way? There seems to be so much time at the start of things, one drowns in it; oceans of seconds, storms of unwanted minutes. Time seems solid, a weight, something exhausting that must be first confronted and then carried down a long, long road. Then, without effort, design or concentration, all that wealth of time is suddenly gone, one is a pauper, in debt, scrabbling around to barter a few extra moments ahead of ...
... friend. No matter where my friend goes, she finds the pale, perfect spectre of Franziska staring back at her. Franziska is a German traveller from last year who refuses to move on to new pastures: she sprints through mirrors and hangs from ceilings and generally gives my friend a tough time. How so, you may wonder? Good question, I will enlighten you. When my friend first arrived in Canada, she immediately went to work on a farm outside of Barrie as a woofer. Now, let it be ...