Mountain Springs Resort and Conference Centre
How has this resort rated in the past?
- Shuttle bus service
- Swimming pool
- Business Services
- Wheelchair accessibility
TripAdvisor Reviews Mountain Springs Resort and Conference Centre The Blue Mountains
Travel Blogs from The Blue Mountains
... in such redundant and linear terms. And then again, it was minus twelve this morning, so the sweat froze in my hair as I ran by the lake and the lake itself was stacked at the end of the highway in planes of blue and white frozen water, unmoving, as static as a painting. I wanted to see a true winter in Canada and thereby remember the winters of my childhood, winters where the gale-force winds knocked the electricity out for days and our cars ...
... party, our chalet would get comprehensively trashed. But perversely, when I finally got home this afternoon, the upstairs was tidier than it had been in weeks. It was like nothing had happened at all. But of course, all of this did happen, these things I am writing about. The emptiness of our time here was filled with shining, echoing nonsense, much like the nonsensical, vacant universe is lit up with stars. The mountain will always be a thing that happened to ...
... 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 ...
... next. Death, I expect, must often feel like that; when the end of life finally nears, one must wonder how it happened in such a rush, how did life go by so fast, even though the majority of days were no doubt ruled by a lethal boredom. The last moments on earth are perhaps the fiercest and angriest and greediest of them all, as we are inevitably betrayed by time in the end, a fact which should rightly provoke a final passion. Our lives are all ...
... 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 ...