I find I haven’t yet touched on what may be the most remarkable thing about Cancerland, which is that, once you are abducted and transported to it, are fully processed and have been entered in the database, after that, it no longer matters where you travel — you are still in Cancerland. It goes with you, the way your nationality goes with you.
It’s more than that, though. An American in France is still an American, of course. But he or she is in fact in France. Cancerlanders in France, however, are not only still Cancerlanders, they are still in fact in Cancerland, albeit in French disguise.
In other words, there is no leaving Cancerland. You can arrange for changes of venue. You can contrive to surround yourself with people who speak the languages of other countries. Indeed, you can contrive to surround yourself with the sights of other countries, even the famous ones, the Leaning Tower, the Kremlin, the Himalayas. But it will always be abundantly clear to you, however odd or gutteral or musical the lingo, however strange the food, however gaudy the customs and costumes, that you really haven’t gone anywhere at all.
Cancerland is the geographic equivalent of the time warp in the film Groundhog Day.