Al and Monica The first time I was in Spain, hmmm, maybe almost ten years ago, my friend Naomi and I were prancing around the country blissfully when people started to giggle and hiss, "Monica...." at us. I remember finding some internet cafe in Barcelona to read the Starr report. As "US cultural ambassadors" we were snickered at, patronized, and generally felt sorry for. But I don't think we were hated.
I was in Barcelona again briefly about a year and a half ago, when anti-Americanism was strong. I remember sitting with a group of journalists from the conference I was attending over one of these three hour multicourse meals. They asked me repeatedly, "But how?".... I did my best to explain the schism of red and blue, but mostly I hunkered down in my wine and olive oil.

But this year, you know, I haven't gotten too hard a time. That is, until Al had to get his photo taken with his indoor pool. I was buying Maya a scarf at a little store which led to a discussion on climate change with the owner, and all of a sudden...the outrage. "That Al Gore, that ex-president, coming to OUR country and telling us what to do, when he uses more energy than anyone..." It was all over the papers here, and while I'm not surprised since I come from a place where it's a mandate to have an affair or two while you speak of family values, people here don't quite get it. It's a good thing my feet are my primary mode of transportation here, even though I haven't won an Oscar, I might never hear the end of it. At least nobody is hissing "Goooorrrreee" at me.

Speaking of gore, a group of my students just did this really nice photoessay for the class about the end of Carnival, which involves some kind of funeral recreation as indeed a bit creepy, we caught just part of it. Take a look:

  ¶ 8:48 PM