The Traveler

"He did not think of himself as a tourist, he was a traveler. The difference is partly one of time, he would explain. Whereas the tourist generally hurries back home at the end of a few weeks or months, the traveler; belonging no more to one place than to the next, moves slowly, over periods of years, from one part of the earth to another..."

- Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

And there you have it. In 100 words or less, the simplistic and yet complex notion of what constitutes my very existence, wrapped up lovingly for the world to see. Discovering the new, not as a tourist - and not as someone mentally prepared to return to the comfort of an old home. But as a resident of the city wherein I lay my head to sleep at night, my belongings by my side carrying my home with me wherever I may choose to go.

So when I arrived in Geneva earlier this week, holding on tightly to my home aka my overweight luggage (try as I may, I will never understand how ANYONE can move to a new country and meet the luggage requirements. My Fall wardrobe alone tips me over the maximum weight) - I was greeted with the knowledge that my dearest Wayne Rooney would be joining me soon, courtesy of a visit with the Three Lions for a Euro Qualifier against Switzerland. It took all the willpower in my body not to acknowledge my knew-jerk reaction; which would simply have been to go online and purchase tickets within the 5 seconds I received that information. Instead, I did what any reasonable and well educated person would do... I emailed my always-well-informed Uncle and explained to him that Rooney would be in town, and I needed - not wanted – NEEDED to be there. Bless him, having dealt with my neurotic personality for years now, he knew exactly what to say... his response went something like this: "You realize it's on a weekday? Is it in Geneva? It could be in another city, that could mean a long drive... Did you check the time? When would the game finish?" Etc. Truthfully, however, my reading the email actually went a little more like this: *Me, already picturing myself in the stadium, surrounded by a large chanting crowd...* "Hmm... what should I wear? Will it still be hot enough for a skirt? Well I guess worst comes to worse I can wear tights underneath... wait, what was that he mentioned about a city? IT COULD BE IN A DIFFERENT CITY?! SCHEIßE!" (I've picked up some German since being here, yes.)

3 seconds and a google check later, my worst fears were confirmed - it wasn't in Geneva. Now, the temptation to drive the 3 hours to Basel to see a legend in the making - on a weeknight - was still ripe, and of course my mind went into overdrive.

To make matters worse? There's no League football this weekend to tide me over. Meaning, I'd be waiting till next weekend (essentially, an eternity) for a dose of Berbatov's latest piece of brilliance, or Scholes and Giggsy defying the very notion of aging.

But the sad truth is I wasn't the one who got to make the decision. Because I think we all know which one I would have made. (Clue: Stars with Y, ends with S, rhymes with chess.) But once I was given my work schedule and informed I finish at 5:30, the decision was made. The time it would take to get up North would mean I'd miss part of the game, and I do love you Rooney... but I love my money more - and I'm not paying to watch England underperform for 45 minutes, no thanks. I at LEAST deserve to see them underperform for the full 90, it's only fair.

So... Am I upset that I won't see him? Yes (would be the understatement of 2010). Do I want to make the trip up north, see half the game, come home exhausted, go to work semi-awake and bemoan my incomprehensibility for the following 24 hours? No.

Alas, I'm not worried... As I disappointedly shut down my Mac once I realized the whole seeing-Rooney-in-Basel would not materialize, I remembered 2 very important things. Uno - he's young, and he's not going anywhere. In this case scenario, what goes around most certainly will come around, and it'll find me patiently waiting in the shadows, with a ticket stub in my hands. But dos? I'm a traveler. Therefore, inevitably and eventually... some day, somewhere, somehow?

Our paths will cross again. Rest assured, self, the time will come.