The problem with most foreign lands is that they're much too far away, like the bleachers in Ebbett's used to be before the debacle of technology. He'll smile and wave away a fly or toss aside some graying hair from his glabrous suntanned brow. Ulysses, his uncashed pension check snug against his bony chest, walk along the winding lane home to his lovely dark-tressed mistress who waits with kisses and a wanton caress.
Foreign lands are far away, it's true, but so is the expatriate.