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The final day in Hostel Bongo sees me busy in preparation for setting off the next morning. Writing a journal page keeps me occupied all morning. Then after lunch of burek and a cold beer, I ride over to the bike shop at Hotel Yugoslavia as the front-wheel can be rocked laterally side to side: the hub needs to be taken apart, cleaned, packed with grease and put back together again and the cones adjusted so the wheel spins freely without play. I know you're thinking I could do this job myself, but that means carrying quality cone-spanners, which are more weight than I care to carry. My tools consist of three allen-keys, a chain-tool, Leatherman and usual spare inner-tube, tyre-levers and puncture repair kit, most of which get regular use; whereas most other tools for changing a cassette or bottom-bracket are only going to be used once in a blue moon and not without getting to a bike shop first to buy the necessary spare part.

The mechanic does the job while I wait and afterwards I return to the hostel, as this evening is my last chance to meet up for the pub crawl, a way of seeing Belgrade's night-life. Before then I've to food shop and cook dinner. Meanwhile I begin feeling unwell. I was feeling fine when I returned with the bike, then somewhere on the way up to dinner I feel a queasy stirring in the stomach, but think no more about it. I have dinner of omelette and new potatoes while keeping an eye on the wall-clock as not to be setting off late for the nine o'clock meet-up time.

Walking along the street, it's a wonderful evening after a hot day. The sun has not long set and the buildings silhouette lined with a flush of pink as I make my way through the throng of people out to enjoy themselves. I still feel a little unwell but feel better for walking. The pub crawl will be a visit to a few cafes with a shot of Rakija in each, a local homemade honey or plum flavoured spirit. I'm wondering can I go through with it, though.

I'm the first there and the guide introduces himself and asks me where I'm from. Then the next person come along, a French Canadian man. The Guide is learning French so he practices his French until shortly two boys from England turn up. Then a couple from the US.

The stomach is churning again as people chat and I'm near enough sure if I have anything alcoholic to drink I'll throw up. I want out. Our guide hands out small plastic beakers and pours some Rakija from a plastic water-bottle into each, then just as everybody else begins to drink, I hold the beaker up and the smell of alcohol nearly finishes me. I have to say sorry, I'm not feeling well. I hand back the beaker of Rakija un-touched and rush off feeling like vomiting. The thought of vomiting in public is embarrassing, but somehow I hold on until back at the hostel.

I explain to Slasha the hostel receptionist that I'm back because I'm feeling sick. She makes me a cup of mint-tea, saying it'll do my stomach good and suggests I may've got sun-stoke when I's out on the bike in the afternoon. It could be a combination of things, like I stay up to one o'clock, then I'm up again at half six most morning; also, the burek I had for lunch is very salty, greasy and heavy; this is the most likely cause of feeling unwell.

I sip the tea and straightaway the effect on my throat has me dashing to the toilet where I throw up dinner. As I wash my hands after, I look in the mirror and see my face is green. Later Slasha tells me that I looked white like I was going to faint.

I remain sat on the sofa sipping mint tea, then dashing to the toilet to throw up, returning to the sofa feeling well again until the unstoppable urge to vomit returns, until half twelve when all I could vomit is a thin yellow fluid and I thought it safe to go to bed.

I slept well and when I get up the following morning I feel a lot better, so drink some natural yogurt. That is all. The local yogurt is creamy and is a meal in itself. I drink more of it during the day. Whilst I no longer feel like vomiting, the bacteria in the yogurt must be doing good, every muscle in my body, especially leg muscles, aches. It hurts just sitting upright and in the afternoon I walk stiffly to the market to buy strawberries and return really tired.

The following day after another good night's sleep all the aches and pains have gone and while waiting another day in Belgrade, in which I'm eating properly again, I'm anxiously planning and looking forward to getting back on the road.