What followed was beyond anything I could have imagined. A husky-voiced diva swept onto the stage in a sheer pink caftan, to the cheers of hundreds of adoring fans. It was like seeing Stevie Nicks for the first time, but in Spanish and Technicolor. Two young dancers, a man in black and white and a woman in skintight red ruffles, punctuated her songs with dramatic flamenco.

But the real excitement came when the woman dancer exited and the man, dripping in sweat, dark chest hair bursting out of the unbuttoned collar of his white shirt, stomped his feet passionately for María de la Colina, a woman some 40 years his senior.

Instagram Heaven

“It’s too much!” said my friend Shayla Harris, a filmmaker who came to visit for a few days. It became our motto, repeated every time we took a turn through the tiny, colorful, twisty cobblestone streets of Seville’s old town, which we couldn’t stop photographing. Wrong turns usually begot more wrong turns: A gate of intricate Moorish grillwork might reveal a courtyard filled with fountains and colorful tiles and tropical plants; walking around a red and yellow building might lead to a block full of blues and greens. Getting lost was the point.

That “too much” feeling had actually begun with our boutique hotel Palacio Pinello. My Times researcher, Justin Sablich, flagged it for me because it was central and reasonably priced. But it turned out to be a restored palace from the 15th century with its stone columns and elaborate wooden ceilings intact, plus an elegant indoor, marble-floored courtyard where we ate breakfast under a skylight. The original palace door, a beautiful slab of painted wood, was encased in glass just outside our room, which had a modest footprint and 20-foot ceilings.

Fellow photo hounds can gorge on the visual feast of Plaza de España, a semicircular, architectural extravaganza about the size of 10 American football fields built for a world’s fair in 1929. Our favorite feature was the 48 elaborately tiled benches, each representing a province in Spain.

The incredible Moorish palace, Real Alcázar, with its water gardens, can’t be missed (“I feel like I’m in Dorne!” I kept thinking, before learning that indeed, “Game of Thrones” used it as the shooting location for the seat of the desert-ruling House of Martell.) But it was also so overwhelming to visit in the heat that I needed about five hours of recovery time. I would suggest pairing it with a stroll through the lush gardens of the more modest Placio de las Dueñas across town, which gives a sense of how the city’s ruling class once lived.

All of Seville’s many twisty roads eventually seem to lead to La Giralda, the Moorish bell tower (with Renaissance touches) attached to the largest Gothic cathedral in Europe. Should you ever get lost, you can follow its looming presence, like an urban North Star.