Here are the available villas for rental in Seville.

Review by Bin from Paris

avoir the restaurant La Albahaca, situated at Plaza de Santa Cruz, 12. In fact, all our sejour at Seville which is so beautiful a city is spoiled by this restaurant: service is so so, and food is terrible---my friend went to the hospital the next morning by ambulance because of the Ostras naturales she had. We have no time for a legal pursuit to this restaurant, but we have the responsibility to alert other tourists. A shame for this restaurant and a pity for Seville.

Wonderful atmosphere

We passed through Seville on our way back from Portugal, by which time it was too late to stay any longer than a single night. What bad planning!
Had we known, we'd have arranged to spend more time there. The atmosphere in the evening was absolutely terrific.
I can't remember all their names, but there are squares, or plazas, dotted all over Seville, with cafes and restaurants spilling out on to the streets. There are many churches that we would have liked time to explore and some really beautiful architecture, exhibiting a strong Moslem influence.
The bullring is fantastic to look at. Seville is well known for its bullfighting history.
We didn't have anything booked but, after eating on the patio of one of the little restaurants, we found an old hotel in the centre of town. We were a few floors up, and the tall windows in our room looked out over a small plaza.
Being August, it was pretty hot, even late at night, so we had the windows open wide all night, but the shutters pulled to. What a wonderful experience!
We fell asleep to the muffled sounds of late-night conversations out in the square, charming rather than irritating. ... more

Sweet smell of the south

Many towns have an individual smell. On a bad day the Parisian air can become a melange of dog dirt, Gauloises, croissants and uncertain drainage.
Bangkok smells of sweet new flowers mixed with stifling car fumes, Beverly Hills of vanilla, Cracow of industrial smog and Boston of beer.
Nowhere, however, smells like Seville - because Seville smells like the Garden of Eden.
I've never been to a city that smells remotely like it: a mixture of orange blossom and jasmine, which in the spring, when we went, can make you feel almost high.
But then I've never been to a city where you can walk down quiet, ordinary side streets and pick oranges and lemons off trees planted by the council in the pavements.
And I've certainly never been to a place where so much can be made of a patio. Sevillians love their patios, and urban gardeners such as me, looking for ideas for their little patch of British green, will find ideas to spare here.
It doesn't matter how small or overshadowed the space: with creepers thrown over whitewashed walls like coloured lace shawls, palm trees charging upwards towards the light and baskets of garlands hanging from balconies, Seville's thousands of patios are justifiably a source of much local pride. Every year there are competitions in May for the prettiest.
I didn't know much about Seville before I went there for a weekend. Yes, I was aware that the best flamenco in Spain was said to be in Seville, and that Christopher Columbus set out from here on one of his voyages to America but, apart from that, not much.
Which all goes to show how quietly Seville has been selling itself to tourists this past 30 years. You'd never believe that it's the fourth biggest city in Spain.
Sevillian history began long before the Arabs, the Romans having left a spectacular amphitheatre just 15 minutes by bus from the city centre.
But it wasn't until the North Africans arrived at the beginning of the 8th century that the Seville we now know, and which we tourists want to visit, began to take shape. ... more

Seville got to her

My girlfriend, a woman of principle, would come to Seville only on one condition. 'You promise not to take me to a bullfight,' she said.
I have never made an easier promise. It was like taking a pledge not to strangle puppies.
Ah, the fickleness of women! Just three hours after getting off the plane, she was plucking winsomely at my sleeve. 'Darling, how do you feel about going to the bullfight tonight?'
Seville had got to her. It was all I could do to stop her buying a flamenco dress and singing arias from Carmen.
You cannot move in the city without reminders of its most infamous pastime.
Bullfighting posters adorn every tapas bar. Shop windows bulge with matador costumes. Middle-aged men corner you in bars and try to show you the scar they got running with the bulls at Pamplona. You sit down to a meal in a restaurant and a waiter recommends the 'bull's tail'. It is like a disease.
But five minutes of bullfighting on television, X-rated and nauseating, ensured that we would not contract it. We did visit the museum of bullfighting at the handsome 18th-century Plaza de Toros. It was simultaneously gruesome and hilarious.
Having spurned the bullfight, we had dinner in a lively restaurant near the cathedral. There was no English menu and the staff spoke only Spanish but I thought I knew enough, just, to get by.
Wrong! Having ordered, we thought, squid with garlic, artichokes, spicy lamb casserole and a jug of sangria, we got meatballs, salted cod, grilled chicken and a bottle of mineral water. Very nice, too - though I did send the water back. ... more

Exploring Seville

Giggling, deep male voices were coming up fast behind me. I turned to see a gang of twenty-something Spanish men wearing polka-dotted, flamenco-frilled aprons over jeans and T-shirts.
After filing through a cobbled square past amused diners at La Cueva in the old Jewish quarter of Santa Cruz, they ducked silently into a quiet, dimly-lit bar.
This was a stag night, Seville-style, with the groom identifiable from the others only by his mantilla and a slash of red lipstick.
Their restraint was impressive; it may have been early evening but somehow I couldn't see them whipping out handcuffs, downing pint after pint or emulating their rambunctious British counterparts.
Like its inhabitants, Seville is a mature, gracious city.
Earlier that day, on a two-and-a-half hour flight from London, my travelling companions were rather different from those one might traditionally associate with southern Spain.
A sedate bunch boarded the plane: retired couples in panamas, bankers carrying golf clubs, honeymooners and trendy families with offspring answering to Noah, Nancy, Pandora and the like.
Yet the serenity of Seville is thanks, in part, to these cultural tourists who wield their cameras respectfully and leave, while the sun, sex and sangria masses descend on the Costas.
Apart from the soothing sound of cicadas, sparrows, and guitar music in tapas bars, noise levels are disarmingly low.
Ten minutes from the airport, Santa Cruz houses the most treasured monuments, such as the Hospital de Los Venerables, a 17th-century home for elderly priests, which has a restored baroque church. ... more