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You step out of your hotel in Seville , southern Spain . The scent reaches you first , ahead of the sights . It is floral and faintly sharp . It is bitter orange blossom , drifting from the thousands of trees that line almost every street in the old centre . The trees are the same variety grown in Seville for centuries , but their fruit is far too bitter to eat off the branch . Each winter the city harvests the crop and ships most of it to Britain , where it becomes the dark , thick - cut marmalade that fills supermarket shelves . Begin your walk at the cathedral , where a courtyard of mature orange trees shades the ground in a dense , aromatic canopy . From there , cross into the Alcazar , the royal palace next door . Its tiled rooms stay cool even in spring , and the geometric patterns on every wall reward slow looking . Save the afternoon for the Metropol Parasol , a few streets north in the old market square . Locals call it the mushrooms , and the name fits : six vast wooden canopies billow overhead like something grown rather than built . The structure opened in 2011 and ranks among the largest wooden buildings on earth . Climb the walkway along the top for a long view over the terracotta roofline . On your way back , bend down and pick up one orange from the pavement . Hold it under your nose , breathe in , and set it back down . That single moment carries the whole city home with you .
