Atlantic Swells & Guadalquivir Nights: A 5-Day Seville and Coast Surf Escape in December

The day starts with the soft hiss of milk steaming at MUY Coffee, the air thick with the smell of freshly ground beans and toasted pastry while the city outside is still rubbing its eyes. A short walk later, the Guadalquivir opens up in front of you, slate-grey in the December light, as boards from Paddle Surf Sevilla slide silently past the pastel facades of Triana—this is Seville seen sideways, from the waterline, where church bells and river birds share the soundscape. By lunchtime you’re drying off, hair still carrying a trace of river chill, as you duck into Casa Moreno’s narrow, old-school space, shouldering past locals to balance a plate of chorizo and cheese on a worn wooden ledge. The afternoon stretches out in the tiled curves and echoing colonnades of Plaza de España and Parque de María Luisa, where the sun bounces off ceramic balustrades and the smell of damp earth rises from the gardens. As darkness folds in, dinner at Gascona in Triana leans into seafood and rice, the warmth of the room a contrast to the cool night air outside, before you climb to Alameda 47’s rooftop—three floors of shifting energy, from low-lit terrace to full club, with the city’s orange-lit rooftops at your feet and the faint texture of river mist still clinging to your jacket. Tomorrow, the focus shifts from river glide to cathedral stone and ancient baths, trading neoprene for history and steam.

Morning arrives in Santa Cruz with the smell of oranges and distant church bells, and Billy Brunch Sevilla adds the scent of pancakes and espresso to the mix, its New York-style energy tucked into a Sevillano street. From there, you slip into the cool half-light of the Catedral de Sevilla, where stone soaks up the December chill and every footstep echoes under the vaulted ceilings, La Giralda rising above like a watchful mast. Lunch is a reset at Cafe Otto, where sunlight spills into a small square and plates are simple, comforting, and unhurried. The afternoon drifts into the geometric gardens and carved arches of the Royal Alcázar, the air carrying a faint trace of damp stone and citrus, before you surrender to the warm, candlelit pools of AIRE Ancient Baths, steam curling around the old brick like a private weather system. By nightfall, Vinoteca Lama La Uva in Feria wraps the day in natural wine and low conversation, the chalkboard list reading like a map of Iberia’s vineyards—tomorrow the narrative shifts from stone and steam to wheels on pavement and skate decks on concrete.

The day starts earlier, the sky still pale as you grab a quick coffee at Hispalis Café, the smell of strong espresso and toasted bread cutting through the morning chill before you slide into a car heading southwest. By late morning, the horizon opens and Cádiz appears, a compact city ringed by sea, where Playa de la Caleta wraps a gentle curve of sand between old fortifications and the water smells clean and briny. Lunch happens in the old town at Bar La Tabernita, all chalkboard menus, tiled walls, and the sound of plates hitting the bar as fried fish and sherry flow. The afternoon is for sand between your toes and neoprene against your skin at Slow Escuela de Surf on Cádiz’s Atlantic-facing stretch, where the waves have more bite and the wind carries a different kind of energy. Driving back as the light fades, you return to Seville pleasantly salt-sticky, ready for an elegant reset at Restaurante La Cochera del Abuelo and a quiet nightcap at Hotel Vincci Molviedro’s bar, the memory of waves still echoing under the table conversation. Tomorrow, you’ll stay closer to Seville, trading highway miles for bikes and boards on the river again.

The morning opens slowly at MOKAMBO Alfalfa, where the smell of freshly baked bread and strong coffee curls around a brunch menu that feels engineered for people who actually need fuel—eggs, avocado, generous portions. Late morning, you trade cutlery for handlebars with Sevilla Bike Tour, gliding along dedicated lanes past the river, the Torre del Oro, and into neighborhoods you’ve only half-registered on foot, the city’s layout suddenly snapping into place. Lunch becomes an anchor at Clan Sibarita’s, a hybrid wine shop and bar where local bottles line the walls and small plates keep pace with conversation. In the afternoon you cross back toward Triana to meet Spain Cycling Tours, not for a hardcore ride but for route intel and a spin along less touristed stretches of the river, the breeze cool against your face. As the sky deepens, dinner at El Sella folds Asturian-leaning flavors into the Triana story before Bar Mama Queen lights up for the evening—bagels and cocktails by day, now a warm, neon-kissed bar where the music is just loud enough to feel, not shout. Tomorrow, the Atlantic calls again, this time with a more immersive surfhouse edge.

The final day smells like neoprene and coffee. You leave Seville before the city is fully awake, a quick stop at HONEST SEVILLA’s café bar if you’ve based yourself there, then the road unwinding toward El Palmar, where the Atlantic feels closer in every sense. By late morning, you’re checking into Nexo Surfhouse’s orbit—boards stacked, sand underfoot even near the restaurant, the low thud of music mixing with the crash of waves—and heading to SKP Surf School for a focused session on the sandbar that’s been calling all week. Lunch is sandy and sun-dappled back at Nexo, where plates lean fresh and coastal. The afternoon is deliberately loose: maybe a second session with SURF El Palmar ~ Surf School, maybe time spent wandering between surf shops like On the Sea and 9 Feet, fingers trailing along waxed rails and neoprene. As the light drops, you point the car back to Seville for a final dinner at Cristina Bistró near the grand Alfonso XIII, then one last glass at Vinoteca De Sur a Norte, where organic wines and low lighting create a soft landing. The Atlantic’s roar quiets to a memory, replaced by the city’s softer soundtrack, and you can feel both in your bones.