It's late. I should be off to bed. We have to be up early to do a little shopping (replenishment mission: we've done a reasonable job of eating our host out of house and home).

I battled to sleep last night, and two nights before that I had one of my infrequent (but regular) all-nighters. They're just plain frustrating. I lie awake tossing and turning trying various tricks of the trade to get to sleep. It never works and I should have long since accepted this. Eventually, around 5am, I gave up and played a bit of Colonization until the rest of the world joined me. I've played a fair bit of it this trip (and devoured about a dozen books), usually while waiting for the blisters on top of the last set to cool. It's been a bit odd because the game focuses on North American history. It feels a bit awkward encountering historical texts that mention the Iroquois Indians when I spent a chunk of the previous evening trying to wipe the tribe out because it dared attack one of my colonies. I have blood on my hands.

Unfortunately, the one night I couldn't sleep at all was the night before we caught a bus up to Quebec City. I don't know if bus-lag is an accepted phenomenon but I certainly felt like I'd crossed a few time zones by the time we arrived. What I don't get is why nobody has yet succeeded in designing a chair that's even vaguely comfortable to sleep in for a few hours. Perhaps I'm just not made of the right stuff.

Montreal is pleasant. It's a very green city this time of year, and (I suspect as a result of long, two-tone Winters) everyone has gone out of their way to plant the most incredible flowers. Beds all over the city are bursting with colour. We quizzed one of the locals and it turns out these are all annuals. This means they die when Winter rolls in and new flowers need to be planted each year. That's a tremendous amount of labour for just a few short months of colour. But I suppose it's a fairly concrete example of appreciating something all the more for being forced to do without for long stretches.

But as pretty as Montreal is it lacks appeal. I prefer Melbourne but I'm having real trouble figuring out what the difference is. The people here are friendly. Service is great. Buying power seems comparable. Both cities have a very cosmopolitan feel to them. Both are great for eating out and both have a fairly vibrant night life by all accounts. Both have a reasonable taxi service, and good (i.e. reliable and cheap) public transport. Hell, they even have comparable biking cultures from what little I've seen.

So I'm at a loss to explain why I'd take Melbourne over Montreal any day of the week.

The time feels like it's both dragged and flown by. I don't really want to go back, although it will be nice to have tea that didn't require a microwave to make (these people don't seem to have encountered the concept of a kettle). Actually, that's not strictly true: I am looking forward to getting back, but almost certainly for completely different reasons than might be proposed. The next few months are going to be particularly challenging.

We're off to London on Tuesday. We have a little more walking to do (one or two more things to tick off, according to the Rough Guide) and some last minute shopping to squeeze in. And then it's back to the Uck where, no doubt, much more shopping awaits, followed by a long flight back to SA (please let there be decent movies this time). And contrary to expectations, I not going anywhere near the UK office. Not if I have anything to say about it anyway.

Back to muggy Montreal. North Hatley was hot (exceptionally so this past week by all accounts) but it wasn't as humid as Montreal is at the moment.

What can I say about North Hatley that could possibly do the pictures I've included justice? And if the setting weren't enough then a week filled with events arranged by arguably the most energetic couple I've ever met. These events led up to their wedding (the raison d’être for the trip to North Hatley) which can only be described as epic. 170 people from all over the world (Bali, Cambodia, Scotland, England, South Africa, Italy, and half a dozen different cities within the US itself: Boston, Washington DC, Atlanta, New York) with every intention of saving the world (Fiona and Jared are both quite involved in something socially oriented). We had people from the US State Department, the UN, and a large contingent from Seeds of Peace. Never before have I felt so much like a capitalist pig-dog. Fiona (and Jared), being their "enthusiastic" selves, have managed to collect like-minded people from all over the world. CPD or not, everyone got along famously and we've come away with invites to numerous far and exotic locations (Cambodia topping the list both because of where it is and who lives there) in exchange for a plethora of invitations for people to come and abuse our spare room. After all, that's why it's there.

North Hatley seems to be a popular biking destination. Mostly cruisers but the occasional Goldwing (or equivalent) rolled into town. I'm certainly looking forward to Summer in Cape Town. Marc and Wes (and maybe even Ben) just need to get their acts together. (Andy, kick their asses into gear. Even if they haven't decided to get their bikes get them to book their license or there won't be space before Summer departs.)

Saying goodbye to North Hatley was hard. I think that's more to do with having to say goodbye to new friends, knowing how hard it will be to see all of them any time soon (money and available leave being the two biggest impediments), but it certainly wasn't made any easier by the setting. We'll catch up with the Brits in London on our way back, and I really hope we can get it together to catch up with Lilly and Baz, and Amanda (Cambodia and Italy respectively).

It's such a pity South Africa is so far from everywhere. The old relocate-for-a-few-years bug has resurfaced (though I'm not sure much will come of it, one decision at a time thanks). It's been a week of reading, swimming, meeting new people, eating, more eating, more swimming and more reading. In between all of this I've done some thinking. I'd like to say I was now in possession of fresh insight and sudden wisdom, but it wouldn't be true. I have a little bit more personal insight to work with but that's about it.

It's been truly refreshing to be so isolated, even if it was only for a week (although it feels like a month). We only heard about the thwarted second "attack" on London indirectly, and even that had a lag of a day or so. It's been somewhat surreal being so distant from my day-to-day world. Refreshing, but surreal. And North Hatley has that particular small town feel to it that makes unwinding so much easier. It was particularly nice staying there for so long. Pretty soon we were wandering into town feeling like locals (helped by the fact that you recognize so many people, which in turn is a result of the size of the wedding guest list).

So now we have a week to explore Montreal properly. We'll probably try to get up to Quebec City too. Then, early next week, we fly back to London where we'll stay for just under a week before heading home. I've taken hundreds of photos so far and will endeavour to continue this trend. When I get back I'll sort through them and dump them here for the world to largely ignore.

After a brief stop in London we're finally in Montreal. Initial impressions weren't spectacularly favourable but as we see more of the city it's growing on me. It feels like an Australian city (well, at least like one of the two I've seen to date). Except it's damn hot. And humid. In that respect it's more like Bangkok. It's hard to believe that it gets so cold in Winter that there's an underground shopping mall (or rather a whole strip of them).

The place we're staying in is superb. It's the house of the mother of the bride we're over to see. We're sharing it with an couple (American and Dutch) who live in Cambodia. They seem pretty nice although we've only really heard from her (she's the American so he doesn't really stand a chance in conversations).

We took a walk into the city center this morning and came back through Parc Mont Royal (inset), the local "mountain" that rises to a majestic 293m (all of the guide books poke fun at the locals for insisting this is their mountain). It may not be a serious contender in the world of mountains, but in this heat it's a bit of a killer. The park itself is immense and incredibly green. Again, very Melbournesque (reminds me of Kings Park). Tomorrow (or Wednesday, we have yet to decide) we head up to North Hatley.

Right now, I think I'm going to go sit in the freezer.

Virgin have "upgraded" to the new Airbus (less space, more passengers) and in the process their entertainment system has taken a step backwards. Once again I'm forced to wait for the next "viewing slot". And their new version of Tetris sucks.

What is it with Golf drivers? I dropped my bike off at Mandy this morning and rode his into the office (he needs to drop it off for a service but needed his car to get home tonight). On the way back, on the u-bend at the bottom of Ou Kaapse Weg on the town side of the pass a woman in a Golf edged passed me. She gained a few metres. I lost years.

The thing is, I know at least four people who own Golfs and all of them are nice enough guys. Maybe it's not owning the car, maybe it's driving the car? I've never been on the road with any of them before, so perhaps they'd take the first given opportunity to nudge me off the road to my death?

To paraphrase an Australian advert campaign: "Bloody Golf drivers."

... I'm on leave. For nearly a month too. Which means there's a reasonably good chance I'll get my leave days under 20 ;-)

Tomorrow we fly to London, and on Sunday on to Canada. Montreal to be specific. Hatley North to be more specific (the last anglophone bastion in french Canada). We'll be there for about two weeks before flying back to London to spend some time in the uck before heading home.

And I'm already experiencing connectivity withdrawal anxiety.

I have this odd habit, which manifests every time I encounter an inconsiderate (or idiot) driver. You know the kind of driver I'm talking about. They flout the rules of the road because wherever they're headed is more important than anyone else.

Whenever one of these people cut me (or anyone else) off, change lanes without indicating or even acknowledging the squealing sound of rapidly-applied brakes, or pull out into the face of oncoming traffic without acknowledging the laws of physics (half mass by velocity squared and all that), I have to get a look at the driver.

I suppose I'm checking on the off chance they fulfill some bizarre stereotype. If all of these drivers share some specific physical characteristic (an eyepatch, or a penchant for pink) then the world would be a better place. I wouldn't be forced to admit that perfectly normal, reasonable, intelligent people sometimes turn into any one of drooling idiot, crazed psychopath or escaped lunatic.

Sometimes they manage all three.

Well, five actually, but only four bikers (Riel's wife joined us riding pillion). The weather couldn't have been better. And the roads were quiet. All in all, a hard to beat day for biking.

Werner, Mandy and I met up at the office and road through to Plattekloof road to meet Riel and his wife. Our first destination was Riebeek Kasteel where we stopped for coffee.

After that it was on to Ceres for lunch (and a photo opportunity).

We headed back over Bain's Kloof pass (which afforded us with another photo opportunity).

All in all a superb day of riding, and my last for at least a month. On Thursday we're flying to London and from there we'll head over to Canada for a friend's wedding. It's the longest break I've had in almost two years and I'm quite looking forward to it (although it's a pity no one will accept a VFR800 as carry-on luggage).

It's been a strangely full few days since he passed away. I've done a lot of running around, a lot of talking, a lot of eating (my family deals with everything using food) and more biking than I would have expected.

The biking's given me a little quiet time to myself. A chance to think without having to involve my mouth (everyone has a tendency to involve their mouth in the thinking process a little too often). I joined Ben for breakfast on Saturday morning before going through to see the family. They needed a little time to get some of the paperwork sorted out at the hospital. Oddly enough I repeated this ride almost exactly on Sunday morning when Andy and I joined the Pegasus crowd on a breakfast run into Hout Bay, followed by a run over Chapman's Peak (my first time since it reopened; I recommend it) and then over Red Hill. And this morning I went through on the bike to spend the morning with the family and came back via the coast road to be greeted by an oddly misty vista.

We said our goodbye yesterday without ceremony before getting together for lunch. My grandmother asked for an open casket so she could see him one last time. It was difficult to see him. He was always full of life (even if it was in a gruff manner). I'm very much your classic male stereotype (repress, repress, repress) but little tides of emotion keep washing over me. It's usually when I least expect it. Bite down, soldier on. He would have preferred it that way. I only recall seeing my grandfather cry once: when my mother died.

Claire pointed out that something religion gives you implicitly is beginnings and endings. A formal funeral may be a difficult occasion but it brings closure. I'd never considered that. Closure for my family (certainly for my grandfather's generation) involves a meal and sharing stories about their childhood (much of which is less than perfect role model material).

I think the coming months are going to be the hardest, especially for my grandmother. I don't think it's really sunk in yet, and with most of the family down for the weekend it's been busy enough so she's not had to think about it. But pretty soon everyone will have to head home and it will quieten down pretty quickly, and it's then that I think it will difficult.

Gordon Frank Karg, age 77, leaves behind a loving wife, two surviving children, and four grandchildren.

It's been a week of phone calls in the early hours of the morning. Wednesday morning we were woken by a call from our neighbours because Ben's car was in the middle of the road. It turned out someone had tried to steal it and been interrupted by a police patrol. The attempt left the car in a state that required it be towed away.

Thursday afternoon my grandfather was taken to hospital. My grandmother found him confused and unsure of his surroundings. We suspected a stroke but it seems it may just have been the result of extremely low blood pressure. Early Friday morning we were woken by a call because he'd lost consciousness and been moved into ICU. I spent part of the morning with my grandmother at the hospital. He was non-responsive. Early this morning we heard he had passed away.

I don't think it's really registered yet. My grandmother says the same thing. Tears have been scarce thus far but I'm sure there will be plenty in the days to come. I worry a little about my grandmother. I'm not sure what will happen when all the activity of the next few days dies down and she's left in her home alone. We may have to start looking at alternatives.

Although his health hasn't been that great for a while now, this came as quite a surprise. I don't know if that's good or bad. It's hard to think that just a few days ago I was speaking with him, and to walk through the house and see all of his things. I can't imagine what my grandmother is going through, or will go through when it finally sinks in. I can't imagine losing someone I've spent 54 years of my life with. Frankly, I'd rather not find out.

It occurred to me that I have no pictures of him. My grandmother does, but in all the gigabytes of photos I have stashed around I don't believe I have a single one that includes him. I actually have few photos of my family.

This is where I want to reach for humanity's familiar crutch and believe that there's something waiting for us after death. But rationally I can't believe this.

Rest in peace, Oupa. You live on in our hearts and memories.