Rising magisterially from Spain’s mountainous heart, Madrid courses with distinguished blood, the home of kings and Cervantes. And yet the grand old Spanish capital is as much the masterpieces that hang in the Prado and the Reina Sofía as it is the dusty, raucous bars of La Latina, the impassioned roars that ring through the Santiago Bernabéu stadium or a sunset picnic beneath the madroño trees of Buen Retiro Park. 

Under the watch of the snowy Sierra Nevada, the poet Frederico García Lorca forever sang the praises of Granada and its rolling, peaceful countryside, and he would still much find eulogize today in its spirited jigsaw of grand chapels, palaces, old-school tapas bars and Arab-style teahouses – the heady bookmarks in a history every bit as twisting and turning as the narrow lanes of the Albaicín.  

As intoxicating as a cold Cruzcampo lager on a summer’s day, Seville is a breathless dance through every sultry Spanish daydream. Beneath the minaret-turned-belltower of the Giralda, one of Europe’s largest old towns spreads out in a web of tiled courtyards and cobbled, brightly colored squares, where ladies fan themselves beneath the orange trees. Ornate Moorish palaces sprawl around lush fountains, while secret flamenco shows bubble with passion above old, sepia-toned tapas bars.  

World-class cuisine draws a discerning crowd to this Basque beauty: chefs innovate in chic, minimalist kitchens, while in the Old Town, historical bars dole out plates of pintxos (the region’s answer to tapas) and glasses of txakoli wine. With two golden beaches curving round the Bay of Biscay, the seaside resort serves up a lively surf scene, too.