Costa Rica Addresses
Mail Problem
By Marla Dickerson, Los
Angeles Times
SAN JOSE, Costa Rica -
Pity the poor Costa
Rican postman. Sure, he
doesn't have to deal
with sleet or snow. But
consider what passes for
an address here:
From the Tibas cemetery,
200 meters south, 300
meters west, cross the
train tracks, white
two-story house.
That's actually a pretty
easy one. Making his
rounds on the outskirts
of this capital city one
recent morning, carrier
Roberto Montero Reyes
pulled envelopes from
his canvas sack whose
addresses read like
treasure-hunt clues or
lines of haiku.
There was one for
someone who lived on
"the south side of the
Red Cross" and another
for a family whose home
is "125 meters [410
feet] west of the Pizza
Hut."
"You've got to be a mind
reader . . . a historian
and a detective" to do
this job, said Montero,
a 27-year veteran, who
walks his route in
camouflage-print
sneakers.
It might be difficult
for GPS addicts to
comprehend, but Costa
Rica doesn't have a
standardized system of
addresses - at least not
ones that can be typed
into MapQuest.
Many streets aren't
named, and virtually
none has a sign. Many
houses don't have
numbers. Only a few
pockets of the country
use anything close to
the "123 Main St."
format that Americans
would recognize.
Instead, most Costa
Rican addresses are
expressed in relation to
the closest community
landmark. In colonial
times, that was the
church or town hall.
Today, it could be a
fast-food joint or car
dealership.
For some, the system is
a reassuring link to
their country's agrarian
past, a colorful
affirmation of what it
means to be "Tico," or
Costa Rican.
Almost everyone beams
when talking about the
"old fig tree" and the
"old Coca-Cola plant."
Both of those San
Jose-area landmarks have
been lost to history,
but locals still cite
them when giving
directions. For a
disoriented visitor,
it's proof that magical
realism is alive and
well in Latin America.
"It's part of the
idiosyncrasy of Costa
Ricans," said historian
Francisco Maroto Mejia,
director of the postal
museum for Correos de
Costa Rica, the nation's
postal service.
The trouble is that
these rustic addresses
aren't keeping pace with
Costa Rica's
development. A nation of
more than four million,
Costa Rica boasts the
highest standard of
living in Central
America, and has a
vibrant technology
sector. But until
recently, it took an
average of nine days to
deliver a letter - if it
got there at all.
Postal authorities say
that 1 in 5 pieces of
mail is undeliverable
because they can't
figure out where the
addressee lives. The
problem is worse in new
subdivisions, where
neighbors don't know one
another and can't advise
carriers.
Mail is just one
problem. Emergency
crews, cab drivers,
utility workers and
delivery people spend an
inordinate amount of
time on cell phones and
knocking on doors to
find out where they are
supposed to be.
"It's total chaos," said
San Jose-area retiree
Claudio Gonzalez, 73,
who recently spent three
fruitless hours
searching for a friend's
home in an unfamiliar
suburb. "I could find my
way easier in a foreign
country."
Postal authorities have
embarked on a major
overhaul. Recent changes
in the way mail is
sorted have cut the
average delivery time to
two days nationwide. Now
the postal service is
assigning numbers,
street names and postal
codes to every home and
building in the country,
which measures about
20,000 square miles.
Officials have rolled
out more than 430,000
streamlined addresses,
mostly in urban areas.
They hope to convert the
entire country over the
next two years if the
government allocates
about $1 million to
finish the job.
Erecting street signs
will take a lot longer
and cost a bundle.
Correos de Costa Rica is
trying to persuade the
private sector to help
pay for that effort.
The biggest challenge
will be altering the
Tico mind-set, said
Alvaro Coghi Gomez, the
postmaster general.
"It's a cultural
process," Coghi said.
"We have to stop
thinking about the fig
tree."
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