Lezhe, in Northern Albania.
Sat on a beach next to a pile of used nappies the size of a house, drinking a beer and being hassled by a wasp, I curse the determined insect in my native South London accent, only to be politely informed that the other men on the beach think I am referring to their wives and now have their hands on their guns.
I go for a walk, and discover a dead horse blocking the main footpath to the beach. We came by road, a road so potholed and treacherous the tyres on the little rusty Peugeot had to be deflated to cope.
Litter is everywhere, but mercifully the small children who wander barefoot selling cigarettes in the larger towns like Tirana are not here.
Past this are the deserted army barracks and the rusting cannons that were left there when Hoxha went, instruction manuals for various submachine guns can be seen blowing in the wind, the pages of which are mostly now used for toilet paper if caught short whilst looking out to sea, as many of them blowing around the deserted encampment have tell-tale dark skidmarks on them.
The former covert submarine base has a new sinister purpose - deep in the hill overlooking the beach is a favoured landing strip for US rendition flights, being outside the EU and supportive of the US campaign in Iraq, in return for a fistful of dollars the Albanians grant the US military full use of the area, which can be seen clearly on Google Earth.
Back at the beach my translator tells me he is impressed with the beach, that he might bring his wife. I laugh, looking around at the festering pile of nappies and the concrete boxes installed by the insane dictator Hoxha all over Albania, now broken open and covered with urine and graffiti.
Then I realise he is being perfectly serious, and I reflect on how lucky I am to live within a few hours drive of Cornwall or Wales.