Sweet, sweet Spain. . .

As fin de semana lends a peak at us, we decide to hop on bus and greet the city of Huelva. . . The ride started out a drag until serendipity blessed us with an encounter with John Mayer.
No, seriously.

Deciding, better judgement intact, we do not stalk him all the way to his humble abode, but to rather explore the city.

Our first sighting of Huelva (pronounced "Welba")scared us shitless. WOW! How different from Sevilla and it's whimsical frontiers!To put it in a nutshell: Huelva is landmarked by captivating contemporary graffiti that polute the backtreets, industrial monstrosities and guys that we now famously call the Wet Looks (definition: those of the masculine gender that most likely spend a precious amount of time grooming their mops, pouring half a container of hair gel to create this immaculate masterpiece).

Roaming the streets, we did discover the sweet inside. Cobblestone roads that guide you towards Plaza de Virgen where locals enjoy the afternoon sun during their siesta, white doves flocking at their feet with a view of a enchanting and ancient church. Typical Andalucian bars line the alleyways and this is of course were we got stuck. We tuck away at plump green olivas, meat stew, tortilla espanola and fresh pan con cafe. We must have either looked ravenous or the waiter took pity on us, for we enjoyed all this for a mere 10 euros (he probably thought since the South Africans are going to lose the World Cup he might as well give us free munchies).

In short, Marcella´s birthday rocked: after a drink and an exotic trip to The Buddha Bar, were the young and the not so young, come together to jam it out on a few American tunes (despite them singing along to every word of the songs, they still
can not speak a word of English), we ended up in typical Sevillian bar - Bar Torro - with some locals at seven o´clock in the morning and inbetween moutfulls of tostada and coffee, we were serenaded - flamenco style.

As we bring this delayed update of Sevilla and it´s oranges (don´t try to consume those that litter the streets, not a joyful experience for lack of actuall orange taste), we share a copa with the likes of George Clooney, Robert Downey Jnr., Andre Agassi and Giovanni Ribishi.

Interesting finding for the week: there are definitely more good-looking men around, than women. In fact, men seem to reach a peak after adolescence and, with the help of all their beauty products and ridiculous excercise routines, wallow in that peak for. . . ever. Women, on the other hand, are pretty, reach puberty, become very pretty and then go bald over the years and end up looking like their male companions (naturally, with a few exceptions)

Man, do we love Spain and it´s beautifully groomed beautiful men.