shape of a stretched bull hide, Lorca says. Where did the bull symbol start? We’ve seen them as we’ve hunched and crawled through prehistoric caves in France. Early painters adorned Altamira’s walls with mighty bulls. In the great hall of the bulls at Lascaux, one bull is eighteen feet long, a most potent cultural symbol. Ed tells me that Europa was a Phoenician princess seduced by Zeus while she bathed in the sea with friends. In the form of a bull, he charmed the girls, and when Europa playfully mounted him for a ride, he charged into the sea and swam to Crete. This may be a sun myth, he speculates, since the Semitic origin of
Europa
probably means “west,” to which she was brought from the east, the place of sunrise. In almost all the paintings of Europa and the bull, she wears a filmy, flowing dress with at least one breast exposed. The white bull is crowned with flowers as he plows through the waves. At the Villa Giulia in Rome, a 520 B.C. panel shows Europa and the bull accompanied by fish, seabirds, dolphins, and an angel holding rings to clash in each hand. How many artists since have picked up their brushes in the service of this myth: Tintoretto, Raphael, Boucher, Guido Reni, Veronese, Moreau, Picasso, Klee, Ernst, et cetera. On ancient, thumb-worn coins, on Greek vases, and in the paintings, she always holds on to the bull’s horns. Since Zeus chose the bull form, obviously the power of this symbol in Crete predated the myth.
How the bull’s horns spread throughout Europe as a magical symbol fascinates me. Far into fable and scripture and history, the slaying of a bull, and the trophy of its horn, enabled the warrior to marry the princess or assume the kingship. In Hebrew scripture, the messiah was to accomplish this same feat. In the scriptures, a
reem
, a large bull, gives the root to the name
Abraham
. The twists and turns of the bull legend reach from the horned headdresses of Abyssinian Astarte worship, to Minerva, to Mary, standing on a crescent moon, which is also the bull’s horn symbol. According to
Plutarch’s Lives
, Theseus, spoiling for action, went off to fight a bull in Marathon. He’d then take the conquered live bull to sacrifice at Delphi. Even today a common gesture in our town is the raised two fingers—the
corno
, or horn—showing the sign of a cuckold. Turning the two fingers toward the ground means “Let it not happen here.” Newborn babies are given gold bracelets or necklaces with a coral dangle made in the shape of a horn—protection against the evil eye. That legendary half-bull, half-man who lived in the labyrinth at Knossos, and the bull-leaping games acrobats played—these are deep inside our collective Western psyches. I, too, wear an ivory horn and several amulets against the evil eye under my shirt.
In the Plaza Alfalfa (I never thought of this as a Spanish word) the pet market is in full swing when we pass through—green and patterned parrots, exotic shrimp-colored birds, canaries, turquoise and yellow songbirds, and some that look as if they’ve been netted from the nearest tree. Fish, puppies, kittens, and crowds of people, many of whom are under ten and begging for a hamster. I hate the crush and the smell of feathers and bird lime. Disgusting. We focus on a clutch of nuns, following them out of the mob, their voluminous gray habits moving in front of us like a rain cloud.
The list of tapas we’ve tasted has grown. In my notebook I’ve listed in mixed English and Spanish:
Spinach with bacon and walnuts
Pork loin with green pepper sauce
Moussaka with cheese on top
Solomillo con ali-oli
(small beef filet with aioli)
Bacalao con salmorejo
(cod with dense gazpacho)
Pringa casera
(minced meat paté)
Shrimp croquettes
Pan de ajo con carne mechá casera
(garlic bread with larded loin)
Chipirón a la plancha
(grilled squid)
Empanadas con jamón
(pastry with ham)
Empanadas de carne
(with meat)
Fried
Europa
probably means “west,” to which she was brought from the east, the place of sunrise. In almost all the paintings of Europa and the bull, she wears a filmy, flowing dress with at least one breast exposed. The white bull is crowned with flowers as he plows through the waves. At the Villa Giulia in Rome, a 520 B.C. panel shows Europa and the bull accompanied by fish, seabirds, dolphins, and an angel holding rings to clash in each hand. How many artists since have picked up their brushes in the service of this myth: Tintoretto, Raphael, Boucher, Guido Reni, Veronese, Moreau, Picasso, Klee, Ernst, et cetera. On ancient, thumb-worn coins, on Greek vases, and in the paintings, she always holds on to the bull’s horns. Since Zeus chose the bull form, obviously the power of this symbol in Crete predated the myth.
How the bull’s horns spread throughout Europe as a magical symbol fascinates me. Far into fable and scripture and history, the slaying of a bull, and the trophy of its horn, enabled the warrior to marry the princess or assume the kingship. In Hebrew scripture, the messiah was to accomplish this same feat. In the scriptures, a
reem
, a large bull, gives the root to the name
Abraham
. The twists and turns of the bull legend reach from the horned headdresses of Abyssinian Astarte worship, to Minerva, to Mary, standing on a crescent moon, which is also the bull’s horn symbol. According to
Plutarch’s Lives
, Theseus, spoiling for action, went off to fight a bull in Marathon. He’d then take the conquered live bull to sacrifice at Delphi. Even today a common gesture in our town is the raised two fingers—the
corno
, or horn—showing the sign of a cuckold. Turning the two fingers toward the ground means “Let it not happen here.” Newborn babies are given gold bracelets or necklaces with a coral dangle made in the shape of a horn—protection against the evil eye. That legendary half-bull, half-man who lived in the labyrinth at Knossos, and the bull-leaping games acrobats played—these are deep inside our collective Western psyches. I, too, wear an ivory horn and several amulets against the evil eye under my shirt.
In the Plaza Alfalfa (I never thought of this as a Spanish word) the pet market is in full swing when we pass through—green and patterned parrots, exotic shrimp-colored birds, canaries, turquoise and yellow songbirds, and some that look as if they’ve been netted from the nearest tree. Fish, puppies, kittens, and crowds of people, many of whom are under ten and begging for a hamster. I hate the crush and the smell of feathers and bird lime. Disgusting. We focus on a clutch of nuns, following them out of the mob, their voluminous gray habits moving in front of us like a rain cloud.
The list of tapas we’ve tasted has grown. In my notebook I’ve listed in mixed English and Spanish:
Spinach with bacon and walnuts
Pork loin with green pepper sauce
Moussaka with cheese on top
Solomillo con ali-oli
(small beef filet with aioli)
Bacalao con salmorejo
(cod with dense gazpacho)
Pringa casera
(minced meat paté)
Shrimp croquettes
Pan de ajo con carne mechá casera
(garlic bread with larded loin)
Chipirón a la plancha
(grilled squid)
Empanadas con jamón
(pastry with ham)
Empanadas de carne
(with meat)
Fried
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