I spent my whole summer saving my nickels and dimes so I could keep myself busy over spring break.

Normally, that wouldn’t be difficult. A week at the beach or in the mountains, and you’ve got yourself covered. It’s not so simple for me this year. The Easter break at Exeter is from March 18 to April 24.

Of all the problems in the world, this probably rates as one of the best. Now I just have to take advantage of it.

My weekend was consumed deciding how I’m going to spread my wings a little and get to some places outside of England.

Yesterday I went to the city library and checked out some “Europe on a Shoe String” type travel books and one that is more specifically focused on Ireland.

My one regret is that I won’t be able to make it to Ireland for St. Patrick’s Day. I’ve got a sociology lecture from 3 to 5 that Friday afternoon.

All the books say that the celebrations in Ireland aren’t filled with as much ruckus as the ones in Chicago or New York, but it would still be fun to have some cultural stereotypes either confirmed or denied.

In the vein of clich‚s about the Irish, one of the guide books I borrowed noted with glee that the an Irish pint of whatever (usually Guinness) was 20 ounces instead of the “traditional” 16.

The authors seemed to think that this was a damning indictment of Irish drinking habits. I brought this up with an English guy from one of my classes.

Due to his extensive, er, “research” into the matter, he assured me that a pint is 20 ounces in the British Isles and throughout the Commonwealth. “Sixteen-ounce pints,” he reckoned, “are for bakers and birds.”

I’m familiar with the names of all the big cities in Ireland, thanks to these two Irish musicians my dad used to know. They also taught me everything I know about shipwrecks.

I never met them, but my dad always had one of their tapes in the car stereo. He told me that they were leprechauns.

When I related this fact to my first grade class, they all laughed at me. I’m still scarred by that experience. But not so much, I bet, as the girl who wet herself and those seated on the floor around her during reading time that same day.

Having settled on spending some time in Ireland, I turned my attention to continental Europe.

I’m a bit apprehensive about going some place where the people don’t speak English. Then again, I couldn’t understand anyone when I first got here either, so I’ll probably be fine.

My mind settled on France first because I took a couple of years of French in high school. Not that I’ve retained much of it. What I remember most is scurrying through my geometry assignments that were due the next period. Occasionally I’d be asked a question to which I’d invariably respond, “Il fait du vent.”

I’m not entirely certain what that means, but it always got a “Well, OK,” from the teacher. I think it was something along the lines of “Not now, I’m doing my math homework.”

What high school French has armed me with is the ability to tell someone named Andr‚ what color Janine’s notebook is.

This will certainly come in handy as I’m crawling out of an alleyway after getting le crap kicked out of me by some Parisian hooligans for being a “Yankee pig.”

I haven’t had the luxury of hearing my dad belt out songs about France in the car while our family was going to Grandma’s. Thus, I’m more reliant on the books to tell me what I should see while I’m there. Paris is a no-brainer, but the rest of France is pretty big, about the size of Texas. It would be unfortunate to take an eight-hour bus ride to some lame city. I got a “Fodor’s guidebook,” and it’s been a good help.

At first I was relived to find a list of common phrases in the back of the book.

My relief was short-lived however. I soon found it hard to believe that “I’d like to order cured pig’s knuckle” was a necessary inclusion while truly vital phrases were omitted.

What am I to do when I need to know where I can get the 2,000 francs I need for bail?

Or better yet, they could have just put the phrase “Is it legal to pee here?” in place of the pig knuckles, and I’d have avoided the whole embarrassing situation.

I’m having a lot of fun pretending I’m some jet setting hipster ready to conquer the world. I’m living it up while I can. Next year, I’ll be lucky to spend a weekend in the bustling metropolis of the Quad Cities …

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Chris Crouch is a sophomore in political science from Rapid City, Ill.