Seville‘s Islamic past still whispers through its courtyards, arches, and tiles. For nearly five centuries, the city flourished under Muslim rule as part of Al-Andalus, and its legacy endures in architecture, art, and even in the rhythm of daily life. Seville, in the time of Al-Andalus, wasn’t just a city. It was a jewel in the Western caliphate. By the 11th and 12th centuries, under the Abbadid, Almoravid, and especially Almohad dynasties, Isbiliya (as Seville was then known back then) was a city of gardens and libraries, of domes that caught the sun and courtyards cooled by fountains. It was a place of poetry and science, where Arabic flowed through the streets alongside the scent of orange blossoms and the murmur of irrigation canals.
This self-guided walking tour traces that layered past, one architectural echo at a time. You’ll follow a path through some of the most atmospheric corners of the city, starting by the river, where Seville first opened itself to the world, and ending at one of its oldest gates, still standing guard over the historic medina. Along the way, you’ll encounter minarets turned bell towers, courtyards that once held ritual fountains, and palaces that blend Christian power with Islamic artistry. It’s not just a stroll through stone and tile, it’s a journey through centuries of memory, transformation, and living memory.
Islamic Architecture of Al-Andalus
The architecture of this era wasn’t about grandeur in the traditional Western sense. It was about intimacy, proportion, and rhythm. About how light filtered through lattice screens, how water echoed off stone, and how shade and shadow became part of the design. It spoke a visual language of geometry and repetition, one that balanced ornament and restraint.
One of its most iconic elements was the horseshoe arch, often paired with poly-lobed arches that curved and overlapped in graceful, almost hypnotic formations. These arches weren’t just structural; they created rhythm, flow, and a sense of movement through the buildings they framed.
You’ll also notice the frequent use of sebka patterns, which are intricate latticed diamond motifs that spread across facades like woven nets of stone. These repeating forms, often carved or rendered in plaster or brick, speak to a love of geometry and order, hallmarks of Islamic design.
Another striking feature is the muqarnas, a kind of architectural honeycomb used in ceilings, domes, and transitional spaces. They shimmer with complexity, fractal-like, as if the architecture itself is dissolving into stardust. Even small examples carry a sense of celestial awe.
The heart of any Andalusi palace or mosque was its courtyard, typically anchored by a central fountain and arranged in a chahar bagh, a symmetrical, quadripartite garden layout inspired by Persian paradise gardens. These spaces were not only functional (cooling the air, providing water) but deeply symbolic, representing paradise on Earth. Decoration, too, carried spiritual weight. Walls and friezes were often adorned with calligraphic inscriptions, many quoting verses from the Qur’an. The repetition of words, stylized and mirrored, became its own kind of visual meditation.
The materials themselves were humble: brick, tile, and stucco; they were elevated through craftsmanship. Later, when Christian kings re-employed Muslim artisans after the Reconquista, this style evolved into Mudéjar, an architectural hybrid born of conquest, compromise, and continued cultural exchange. You’ll see this blend throughout the tour: Islamic bones dressed in Christian skin, and vice versa.
Map of Walking Tour
Torre del Oro
Start at the edge of the Guadalquivir River, where the shimmering Torre del Oro once guarded the city’s lifeblood. Built by the Almohads around 1220, the tower formed part of Seville’s elaborate riverfront defences. It was connected to the city walls by chains and flanked by sister towers, working together to control access by water. Ships passing into the city could be blocked or taxed right here.
The name Torre del Oro, or “Tower of Gold,” likely comes from the way its lime-mortar surface once caught the sun, reflecting golden light across the river. Some say it was due to the golden tiles that once coated it; others claim it was because this was where gold from the Americas was stored during the colonial period. Whatever the truth, the name stuck, and so did the shimmer.
Architecturally, the tower is a rare surviving example of Islamic military construction in Spain. Its dodecagonal base (twelve-sided) gives it a geometric precision typical of Almohad engineering. The original structure was topped with a second tier added by the Christians after the Reconquista and a small cupola was later added in the 18th century. But its core remains distinctly Almohad, solid, smooth, and restrained in ornamentation, built more for utility than decoration, yet still oddly elegant. Stand close, and you can almost imagine it in its prime: the murmur of guards speaking in Arabic, the creak of ropes pulling river chains tight, sails lowering as boats approach the fortified curve of the city.
Royal Alcázar of Seville
From the Torre del Oro, follow the curve of the Guadalquivir River heading north for just a few minutes, then veer slightly inland toward Puerta de Jerez. The river will fall away behind you as you step into streets that once led directly to the center of Islamic Seville. The Royal Alcázar is one of the clearest bridges between Islamic Seville and what came after. Though much of what you’ll see today dates from the 14th century, commissioned by Pedro I of Castile, the foundations run far deeper, into the era of the Abbadids and Almohads, when this space was the heart of Muslim power in Seville. The Christian kings didn’t tear it down after the Reconquista; they built over it, with it, and sometimes even through it, enlisting the help of Mudéjar artisans, Muslim builders still working their craft in a now-Christian city.
Look for the Stucco Palace, tucked away behind the more theatrical later additions. It’s one of the few surviving Almohad sections, likely built around the 12th century, and a direct link to Seville’s Islamic past. Horseshoe arches trace the perimeter in quiet elegance, and above them, the delicate lacework of stucco carries geometric and vegetal motifs that feel timeless.
Then move into the more famous Mudéjar Palace, built in the 1360s. A Christian monarch may have commissioned it, but everything about it speaks the language of Al-Andalus: from the zellij tilework climbing the walls like cascading stars, to the calligraphic bands inscribed not with Qur’anic verse this time, but Christian praises rendered in Arabic script. Even the way the palace is organized, around courtyards, with shaded porticoes and central fountains, echoes the spatial ideals of Islamic architecture, rooted in both environmental wisdom and spiritual symbolism.
For a more in-depth experience, check out our full self-guided tour of the Royal Alcázar.
Corral del Agua
After wandering the palatial halls of the Royal Alcázar, make your way into the winding, sun-dappled streets of Barrio de Santa Cruz. Exit through the Patio de Banderas, turn right, and let yourself get just a little bit lost. The alleyways here are narrow and fragrant, with orange trees overhead and tiled street signs guiding the way. Within minutes, you’ll reach Callejón del Agua, one of the neighbourhood’s most charming and storied lanes.
It’s here you’ll find Corral del Agua, an oasis of calm, tucked behind a low doorway and a tangle of climbing plants. Once part of a corral de vecinos (a type of communal housing common in Seville centuries ago), the building still wraps around a central courtyard where water trickles gently from a Moorish-style fountain and potted plants soak up the filtered sunlight. But today, it’s a restaurant, and a lovely one at that.
Lunch here feels like stepping into a secret garden. Tables are scattered beneath leafy canopies, framed by horseshoe arches and whitewashed walls, and the hum of the city fades to a whisper. The menu leans towards traditional Andalusian cuisine, featuring dishes such as salmorejo, grilled Iberian pork, fresh cod with saffron, and house-made flan. However, it’s the atmosphere that truly steals the show. It’s easy to linger longer than planned, sipping a glass of sherry while the shadows shift across the tiled floor.
La Giralda
From Corral del Agua, follow Callejón del Agua as it curves into Calle Vida, then turn left toward Judería. Take a right onto Calle Judería, and continue straight into the Plaza del Patio de Banderas. Cut across the plaza, veer slightly left, and turn right onto Plaza del Triunfo. From here, La Giralda will be just ahead, towering over the square. La Giralda began as the minaret of the city’s grand mosque in the late 12th century, during the height of Almohad rule. At over 100 meters tall, it would have been one of the tallest structures in the Islamic world at the time, its clean geometry and restrained ornamentation a hallmark of the Almohad style, which emphasized austere elegance over excess.
Though the Renaissance bell tower was added after the Reconquista (in the 16th century), the lower two-thirds of the tower are entirely original. And they’re extraordinary. From a distance, the tower is stately. But up close, it’s teeming with rhythmic detail. Look for the sebka patterning, those delicate, interlacing diamond motifs carved into the surface. They ripple across the facade like a woven net of geometry, both ornamental and mathematical.
Instead of stairs, the interior was built with thirty-five gently sloping ramps, designed so that the muezzin could ride a horse all the way to the top to call the faithful to prayer. Today, you can follow those same ramps on foot. It’s a slow, winding ascent, one that gives you time to absorb the thickness of the walls, the changing play of light, and the echo of footsteps that have passed through for more than 800 years. When you reach the top, take in the panoramic view of Seville, where ancient rooftops meet baroque domes, and the city’s layers unfold beneath you.
Patio de los Naranjos del Salvador
From La Giralda, head east along Calle Alemanes and turn left onto Calle Álvarez Quintero. Continue straight until you reach Plaza del Salvador. Cross the square, then turn right and immediately left to stay on the plaza. From there, turn right onto Calle Córdoba, and you’ll find the Patio de los Naranjos del Salvador just ahead on your right. Many visitors walk into this courtyard thinking it’s a replica of the more famous Patio de los Naranjos at the Cathedral, but in fact, this one is older. Long before the Iglesia del Salvador was built on this site, it was home to Seville’s second mosque, and this patio, its sahn, or open-air courtyard, was at the heart of it.
The layout remains much as it was nearly a thousand years ago. Rows of orange trees line the space with near-geometric precision, casting dappled shadows over the worn stone. In the center sits the ablution fountain, where worshippers would have once stopped to wash their hands, faces, and feet before prayer. The very act of stepping into this courtyard was a transition into sacred space, a pause to cleanse not just the body, but the mind.
Casa de Pilatos
From the Patio de los Naranjos del Salvador, head down Calle Córdoba and turn right onto Plaza Jesús de la Pasión. Follow the plaza as it curves into Calle Alcaicería de la Loza, then turn left onto Calle Pérez Galdós and right onto Calle Guardamino. Continue straight into Plaza de la Alfalfa, which becomes Calle Águilas. Walk along Águilas for a few minutes, then turn left onto Calle Caballerizas, you’ll find the entrance to Casa de Pilatos just ahead on your right.
Built in the late 15th and early 16th centuries, after the Christian conquest of Seville, Casa de Pilatos technically belongs to the post-Reconquista period. But its walls still hum with the artistry and traditions of Al-Andalus. The first thing you’ll notice is the central courtyard, laid out in perfect proportion, with slender columns and scalloped arches that reflect the geometry of the Alhambra.
It’s an open-air heart that connects the palace’s many wings, just as it would in a traditional Islamic riad. The air is cool, even on the hottest days, and the tilework, azulejos in vibrant blues, greens, and ochres, climbs the walls like patterned ivy. Every detail here tells a story. The stucco friezes resemble those of the Alcázar, repeating floral and calligraphic patterns. The wooden artesonado ceilings, carved in hypnotic designs, draw the eye upward like star maps in pine and cedar. Even the inscriptions, some in Arabic script and others in Latin, reveal the overlapping layers of power, belief, and beauty.
Convento de Santa Inés
From Casa de Pilatos, head northwest along Calle Caballerizas, then turn right onto Calle Zamudio. Take the next left onto Calle Descalzos and follow it until you reach Plaza Cristo de Burgos. Turn right to stay on the plaza, which becomes Calle Doña María Coronel. You’ll find the entrance to Convento de Santa Inés just ahead on your left. Convento de Santa Inés is a cloistered convent founded in the late 14th century. From the outside, it appears modest, but step through the arched doorway and you’ll enter one of Seville’s most atmospheric examples of how Islamic aesthetics subtly influenced Christian sacred spaces.
Built during the early years of Christian rule, Santa Inés is infused with Mudéjar design. You’ll see it in the coffered wooden ceilings, the subtle horseshoe arches, and the azulejo tilework that runs along the lower walls like a visual echo of older mosques. Even the spatial rhythm, the way the chapel opens onto smaller side spaces, the interplay of light and shadow, feels rooted in the architectural logic of Al-Andalus. This was not accidental. Muslim artisans, who continued to work in Seville after the Reconquista, were often hired by Christian patrons to build their convents, palaces, and churches. Their influence is everywhere here, even if the symbolism has shifted.
Convent Cookies
And if you’re lucky, you may even be able to buy handmade sweets from the cloistered nuns, a tradition that’s been quietly upheld here for centuries. The nuns live in seclusion, so transactions occur through a rotating wooden turnstile, or torno, set into a small window near the entrance. There’s no face-to-face contact, just the sound of the turnstile creaking softly as your order appears, as if by magic. To buy, look for a menu posted nearby, usually behind a glass case or pinned near the window. It lists the available sweets. Pestiños are delicate pastries fried in olive oil and glazed with honey and sesame, ingredients that trace a direct line back to Al-Andalus. Their roots lie in the Islamic culinary traditions of medieval Iberia, where olive oil, sesame, and floral honeys were staple flavours. Bite into one and you’ll taste the echoes of Moroccan and Levantine sweets, a reminder of how certain dishes have quietly crossed borders and centuries to become part of Seville’s everyday tradition.
El Rinconcillo
Before heading to your final stop at the Arco de la Macarena, take a well-earned pause for dinner at El Rinconcillo, Seville’s oldest bar, founded in 1670. The second you step inside, you’ll feel it: dusty bottles lining tall wooden shelves, bartenders jotting down your tab in chalk on the bar, and a low hum of conversation echoing off ancient tile and timber. But this isn’t just a historic tavern, it’s also a fitting culinary bookend to your day of exploring Islamic Seville. While the menu leans traditional Andalusian, look closer and you’ll find shadows of Al-Andalus in the ingredients and flavour profiles.
Start with a plate of espinacas con garbanzos, a humble but ancient dish of spinach and chickpeas stewed with cumin, paprika, garlic, and olive oil. Its roots go back to Islamic kitchens, where chickpeas and spices were staples of daily cooking. Pair it with berenjenas con miel, lightly fried eggplant drizzled with cane honey, another dish with deep North African and Sephardic echoes, where sweet and savoury were never meant to be kept apart.
Arco de la Macarena
From El Rinconcillo, head down Calle Capataz Manuel Santiago and continue straight onto Calle Bustos Tavera. Follow it as it curves slightly into Calle San Luis and walk straight until you reach the Arco de la Macarena, just ahead on your left. This striking archway is one of the few surviving gateways from the city’s once-formidable medieval walls, built during the Islamic period to protect Isbiliya, as the city was then known. Located at the northern edge of the old city, the gate stood as a main point of entry for travelers, traders, and pilgrims approaching from the countryside, and for centuries, it watched over all who passed through.
While the arch itself has been restored and altered over time, especially during the Baroque period, look closely and you’ll still spot traces of its original Mudéjar brickwork, peeking through beneath layers of whitewash. Stand here and imagine what this gate would have seen in its earliest days: spice merchants from North Africa, their mules loaded with sacks of saffron and cumin; scholars arriving from Córdoba, bringing news of new texts, new ideas; artisans and architects, whose skills would shape everything from mosques to palaces. This was the city’s threshold, its protective edge, and also its open door to the world.
It’s a fitting place to end our tour. You’ve just walked through more than a millennium of Seville’s shifting soul, from the riverbanks where Almohad towers rose, through courtyards where water whispered in the shade, to palaces and patios layered with Islamic geometry and Christian ambition. And now, here at the old gate, the walk ends where it once would have begun: at the boundary between inside and out, past and present.
Happy Travels, Adventurers
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