Grudgingly, resentfully, I may have to thank the American media for its omnipresence as well as the hype and panic that I otherwise despise. Say what you will about repetitive, overwrought stories of anthrax attacks. But they do let the world know why we're fighting.

I say this because, when I headed to Ireland and Spain two weeks ago for vacation, I had expected arguments when I got there. Mark, the old classmate with whom I traveled, said the Irish press was getting critical of the war. And Spain worried him even more than Ireland. I started learning Spanish phrases such as:

"My country has to fight for its life." (Mi pais tiene luchar para su vida.)

"What other solutions are there?" (Que otra soluciones hay?)

"The biggest problem is fear." (La problema mas grande es miedo.)

But Western Europeans don't seem to hate Americans. I will rephrase that so you believe me: Western Europeans don't seem to hate Americans more than usual.

Political riots did not break out in our hallway bathroom in Barcelona. Men in sheets did not smash down our hotel door in Dublin. And as always, people all over Europe were happy to take our money.

I'm not saying we didn't encounter critical opinions – just that people didn't say anything I hadn't already heard from other Americans, not even the man we met on our first night in Dublin, who tossed questions at us without caring what we anwered.

Guy: "That George Bush. Do you think he's all there?"

Mark: "I think he's being …"

Guy: "I mean, he stole the election."

Mark: "Well actually, it …"

Guy: "What about Dick Cheney?"

Mark: "I …"

I grant you that, thanks to the capable folks at Guinness brewers, I don't remember much else from this or many other late-night talks in Dublin. But I recall that even people who argued with us were happy to talk to Americans, and that most others spoke flatteringly and sympathetically about our country – a Swedish couple who wanted to visit here, a stand-up comedian who (not even knowing we were in the audience) complimented the American accent, a cab driver who talked sadly about the recent American Airlines crash in Queens, and a journalist who said her friends used to think Americans were too paranoid.

They talked less about Afghanistan than about how much they wanted to visit New York, but currently were afraid to.

They also, by the way, talked about "The Simpsons." Everywhere you go in Europe, people watch "The Simpsons."

Spain was more difficult to fathom. Despite my rehearsals, neither Mark nor I spoke Spanish well enough to start an argument in that language. But here's what I managed to understand: A few anti-tourist remarks were scrawled on the walls, but graffiti doesn't require organization or popular support. I saw a bus with "Paz" (peace) written on the side and a man hanging out the window chanting slogans. But nobody on the street joined in.

That may be because Spain, too, understands terrorism. The week we were there, police arrested 11 people who were allegedly Mujahideen leaders, linked to Osama bin Laden. And just for a little local flavor, a judge had been assassinated by Basque separatists, and now other judges in that region were being given bodyguards.

Then, too, the Spanish may actually like some of our culture. We walked into a bistro one day for lunch, and there it was on TV again – "The Simpsons," dubbed in Spanish. We joined hands with all the peoples of the world as we watched the episode where the Simpsons' dog has to get its intestine untied.

Sure, Europeans make fun of Americans. We're a goofy people. We spend too much money, we don't know what we're ordering in a restaurant and we correct other people's pronunciation of their own language. But we're doing the best we can against an enemy who won't even identify himself. And thanks to our strident, repetitive news reports and ubiquitous television programs, some Europeans do seem to understand us a little.