Solomillo en Sevilla

"Early morning trips are my specialty," I think as I wake up at 6:30 a.m. for yet another early start. This time, I’m on my way to Atocha train station to catch a train to Sevilla Santa Justa for a quick two-day trip with Mark and Olivia. It’s been raining in Madrid for what feels like weeks now. We arrive in Sevilla to find that the weather is the same across Spain. But at least this time, we’re in the south, where palm trees stand tall amidst the mist.

Mark, Olivia, and I check into La Flamenca Hostel, settling into our private bedroom with three bunk beds. It’s a genuinely humble abode with pink quilts and a shared bathroom. But it’s a cheap place to lay our heads for one night, and the fantastic terraces will come in handy for the beautiful Saturday ahead. But we’re still on Friday.

After checking into our stay, we are starving and need a local bite. One thing about me? I’m obsessed with finding the best restaurants that have both ambiance and authentic cuisine. Our first stop: La Gata En Bicicleta (The Cat on a Bicycle for my English speakers), where I have chocolate cake and a cappuccino for breakfast. The baristas have that signature southern Spanish kindness, and the casual café features local artwork.

Next, we walk through the city with our umbrellas, heading toward Sevilla’s Cathedral of Saint Mary of the See (casually known as the Seville Cathedral). But even in the rain, we can’t help but stop and take photos of the charming blues, yellows, pinks, and greens painted on the houses amidst the palm trees. This city has many charms, one of them being its inherent positive atmosphere—even under gray skies.

After walking around the massive cathedral, a grand tower built with Renaissance and Gothic styles, we continue our food tour at a local spot we stumble upon: Pelayo Bar. It’s an open-air restaurant, and we get the best table—seated right at the front, overlooking the street, surrounded by pink and white cyclamen flowers and warm lamps for mood lighting. You can tell this place is authentically Spanish, from the walls covered in wine bottles to the taxidermied bull heads in between. I order a Sevillian specialty—solomillo al whiskey (pork loin served over a bed of fries and topped with a whiskey-garlic sauce).

Next stop: Plaza de España. This enormous plaza features Baroque-style towers and arches, arranged in a semicircle with a small canal running through it, where you can rent a rowboat to take in the sights. Along the façade, there are large tile murals dedicated to each of Spain’s 17 autonomous communities—Madrid, Sevilla, Barcelona, and beyond—each showcasing its own quirks and commonalities. Luckily, the rain lets up that afternoon, making for a relaxed photography session.

After that, we walk along the river to our next food stop—Universal People’s Bar. I order another solomillo al whiskey. We also order choco—it resembles calamari in both preparation and appearance, but it’s actually fried cuttlefish served with a green sauce on the side.

The bustling bar is a welcome reprieve from the rain, which has picked up again. We plan our next move: a flamenco show—another must-see in Sevilla (hence the name of our hostel). A friend recommends a local spot—La Carbonería. No tickets, no online reservations, no website even—first come, first serve. The only requirement? Order a drink at the bar and remain quiet when the show starts.

We enter the courtyard, where a line of people waits to order drinks and crowd around the few tables inside. We arrive just in time to grab a sangria and secure a spot with a direct view of the performance. On stage: two men with their drums and one woman—dressed in a stunning outfit, tap shoes clicking, her long braid flowing down her back.

Our final food stop of the night: El Rinconcillo—the oldest bar in Sevilla and still popular for a reason. We wait outside in line for 20 minutes, but the jamón alone is worth it. Upstairs, we are seated in a white-tablecloth dining room—a little fancier than expected, but we are too hungry to care. We order small bites to share: jamón, croquetas, salad, and a bottle of red wine. Liv is our connoisseur, and we giggle, devour fresh Spanish food, and finish our wine. As we wander back to the hostel, we admire the grand cathedral—its yellow glow piercing through the dark night sky—and even catch a glimpse of stars peeking through. Exhausted, satisfied, and fulfilled, we return to our pink bunk beds, and Mark is already asleep with his eye mask on before we can even take off our makeup.

The next morning, we have an early start at Real Alcázar of Sevilla, where we’ve pre-booked tickets for 11 a.m. But first? Breakfast. A TikTok-researched spot turns out to be a bust—rude staff, long lines, overpriced menu—so we pivot to a local café across the street with better service, better prices, and zero gentrifier guilt.

Real Alcázar is a grand castle with acres of lush gardens. Overhearing part of a guided tour, I learn that this is where Spain’s royal family actually lives. I always wondered, since the Madrid palace sits empty. The architecture reflects the city’s Islamic influence, blending intricate tilework with Christian elements. Grand archways frame the tropical paradise of the gardens—palm trees towering over vibrant greenery and bright flowers.

Surprising wildlife appears—ducks in a fountain, a one-legged duck basking in the sun, and, unexpectedly, peacocks. Mostly females, their gray feathers contrast against the vibrant blues and greens of the males.

After two hours of relentless photography, the sun is finally out. We head to El Mirador de Querencia, an upscale rooftop bar where the elevator doors open to a stunning cityscape. I order my favorite—a Hugo Spritz—and we bask in the sun, finally getting the true southern Sevilla experience.

Our last stop before heading home: Las Setas at sunset. This massive mushroom-shaped architectural structure offers a stunning panoramic view of the city. As the sky turns orange and pink, a half-rainbow appears in the distance.

Back at the train station, we do the American thing—McDonald's. We get so caught up gossiping that we forget to check our train track until the last second. We sprint, get lost, and finally make it with just two minutes to spare.

One thing about Spanish trains: If it leaves at 8:28, it’s gone by 8:28. Luckily, we’re on it.