The end of my fairytale summer in Europe is approaching faster than an Olympic sprinter, and weighing on me like a pair of wet clothes. The Nido walls of my flat had just started to feel familiar, and at certain times of the night almost welcoming. The constant dilemma of what would you do if you knew how much time you had plays through my mind like an old, worn-out dial tone. When you actually live your life, stopping to feel your surroundings, and appreciating every bit of the environment you are inhabiting, then even in your last week, you can feel fulfilled. As certain as I am that Sunday's plane departure is lurking around the nearby alley corner, I feel content in knowing I have lived the London life. Maybe it was not the one I had not dreamed while lying in my Pennsylvania bed, but instead a truer London city girl life. Never allowing myself to say no to an opportunity, I can pack my fifty-pound suitcase satisfied.
To celebrate my last weekend in Europe, I ditched the Olympics and headed to the most absurd place I have ever been; Ibiza, Spain. Ibiza has the morals of Las Vegas, the lively atmosphere of Mardi Gras, and a flood of college twenty-year-olds all aching to enjoy life. Never have I felt I was such a normal, tame human being, then as when I strolled down 'the west end' and random strangers were painted like animals, covered in glitter, and speaking in a foreign language known only by the most frequent late-night pub rats. Before you ripen to the age where complete obnoxiousness and debauchery are beyond your years, pay the 400 something Euros and take a trip to Ibiza. Between the gentle, hearts of the Spaniards, and the fairytale shore of the Sunset Mile, my mind settled and I fell in love with Spain. Reluctantly living on a diet of ham and cheese baguettes and 3 euro English breakfasts, I managed to spend just barely over 100 Euros, which is a feat so triumphant I deserve an Olympic gold medal.
Ibiza protected me from the reality which is London 2012. Don't get me wrong, the Olympics are really cool, but if I have to hear about them/talk about them anymore, my nose might start bleeding Olympic rings. London's infrastructure did not suffer a Mayan collapse, and the streets are no more crowded than Christmas time in New York City. Personally, the pressure to care about the Olympics is the most suffocating aspect of the whole experience, although the spreadsheet layout of the Olympic male swimmers in today's Daily Telegraph did pique my interest.
Hands down the number one thing I will miss from London is Romley Davies. I am truly blessed to have been given the opportunity to work for a company as welcoming and charming as my host company, and will remember the lessons they taught me to pass on to my own interns. My office consisted of some of the most brilliant and kind minds in the PR field, and I will forever be grateful they gave an American novice a chance to work alongside them. Experiencing an office atmosphere as encouraging as that of Romley Davies' taught me that it is not where you are, but who you are with that truly matters. With the confidence my internship has instilled in my business potential, I believe I am ready to return to America as a real, workforce threat.