Mountain Springs Resort and Conference Centre
How has this resort rated in the past?
- Shuttle bus service
- Swimming pool
- Wheelchair accessibility
- Business Services
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TripAdvisor Reviews Mountain Springs Resort and Conference Centre The Blue Mountains
Travel Blogs from The Blue Mountains
... 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 ...
... to skip my dinner altogether and instead tuck straight into the Baileys and cider on the go. I managed a couple of hours solid party time: lots of chat with random people (Ski Valet Guy! Next Door Neighbour Guy!), lots of hugs and kisses brimming with goodwill, a few dance moves, one cigarette smoked while staring moodily at the night from the vantage of the balcony (which I regret hugely due to sore throat this morning), drawing on people's arms ...
... a dark stage that stretches without end, with the softening curtains ripped away, with bright, harsh lights that reveal nothing. And so the first of the international workers will be leaving over the upcoming days. We will depart as we first arrived, a grinning, disparate line of backpacks and suitcases, catcalling and whistling, drunk with excitement, over-bright with fatigue. I want to fix everyone in my head just before they go. How did it look when ...
... 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 ...
... moustache that looked fake and the heavy lumberjack shirt, told me of a girl he had met last year in that very hostel (he'd been living in the hostel a while, it seemed). Anyway, the girl was from Scotland, no less. She was a girl who had a grand plan to travel throughout Eastern Canada before heading to a ski resort and working her way through the harsh, painful Canadian winter. Hauntingly reminiscent of my own story, yes, but the overriding emotions awakened within me were ...