A stroll through Cádiz often begins with a wander through the historic center, the “casco antiguo.” Cádiz is a peninsula. The “casco” resembles a pork chop (a comparison coined by Eli, a second-generation local) surrounded by the Atlantic. There’s no risk of getting lost if you follow the coastline; you’ll always end up retracing your steps or literally going in circles. That’s how the story of the Mora fig trees begins.
It’s across from La Caleta Beach (where James Bond once passed by) that these two giants stand. Monumental. Lit up like so many “Eiffel Towers” or “Empire States.” The curiosity, the pride of the city. The two Mora ficus trees, as they’re called here. They have their own signage and plaques.
Ficus de Mora
Mora, here’s a species I’m not familiar with.
There are four species of ficus in Cádiz:“Ficus elastica”or rubber trees native to Asia;“Ficus microcarpa”with small leaves, also from Asia, or Indian laurels imported to Cádiz; and“Ficus rubiginosa,”native to eastern Australia. And the large-leaved ficus:“Ficus macrophylla,”also from Australia. They are sometimes called Ficus Magnolia because the undersides of their leaves are reddish-brown, like magnolias.
Four species for a trip around the world in 60 spots where you can spot them while strolling through Cádiz.
Between historic Cádiz’s “casco antiguo” and “Puerta de Tierra,” the new city.
And Mora?
Named after one of the leading philanthropic families in Cádiz during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. She endowed Cádiz with a modern hospital at a time when infrastructure was lacking. Today, the hospital has become the School of Economics.
Two “ficus macrophylla” trees stand there, in front of the former hospital. In fact, they obscure it.
Ficus de Mora, the legend.
It's said that in 1903, two nuns on their way to northern Spain were obliged to interrupt their journey; they had just returned from the Americas and had taken with them four young ficus shoots which they were thinking of planting in their convent.
One of them had fallen ill, and the stopover in Cadiz proved beneficial. She was taken in at the Mora Hospital.
Alas, the view of the sea from her room was her last.
As a tribute to the nun, two of the four saplings were planted at the foot of the building.
They looked rather like bonsai trees, ridiculous in front of the imposing edifice.
120 years later, our bonsai trees look like baobabs, their trunks so twisted and imposing to the untrained eye.
Today, their roots reach right down to the beach.
Some of their branches are so imposing that they have to be supported by iron and concrete structures. Today, travelers flock here to take selfies. The stars of the town? The ficus.
The cousins of the Alameda Apodaca garden
On the opposite side, across from the “casco,” still following the coastline, you’ll come across their two “cousins”—the other two seedlings. Remember, the nuns had brought four potted seedlings.
There they are, in the Alameda Apocada garden. A garden frozen in the charm of the 1920s, at the time of its restoration, where exotic trees and plants, wrought-iron benches and streetlamps coexist; along with ceramics characteristic of the region, facing the Bay, facing the coveted Americas of Cádiz’s Golden Age.
So a tour of Cadiz is also a tour of the four ficus trees.
And once you've done that, it's time to get lost on the perpendicular. Without ever really getting lost, because almost all the squares lead to the sea.
And just like on the merry-go-round, you'll be able to set off again for an enchanted ride.
