Costa Rica Addresses Its Lack of Street Names

SEVENTY-FIVE METERS WEST OF THE GENERAL CEMETERY, SAN JOSÉ, Costa Rica—Rodolfo Sancho is on a quest to end the colorful life of Costa Rica's quirky yet costly address system, but he knows there are roadblocks ahead.

Costa Ricans use distances from landmarks to guide taxis, delivery trucks, wedding guests, police, and, of course, postmen.

Even the head of public works in this hilly capital city says he is forced to use the befuddling system.

"If I didn't say '75 meters west of the general cemetery,' I would say 'across from the wholesale fruit market,'" said Mr. Sancho, giving the alternative address of his office.

How about the corner of 10th Avenue and 28th Street, the closest cross streets? "No one would understand," he said, sitting next to a floating magnetic globe in his office.

Finding one's way here can feel like a scene out of a Marx Brothers movie. How do you get to the Police Academy? It's in front of the Castro Madriz School. The Castro Madriz School? It's across from the Police Academy.

Others are downright cruel. The address for a Curves workout studio in the Tibas district, as listed on its website, is 150 meters west of a McDonald's.

It has been seven years since Costa Rica's government decided to create a nationwide street-naming and signage program. Even though Mr. Sancho is leading the charge for San José, he admits current practices have their merits.

"You can see the McDonald's 'M' from kilometers away," he says.

Installation of street signs reviving a long-ignored grid system in the capital would cost $2 million, Mr. Sancho says.

But the cost of not having a proper address system across the fast-growing country is a bit north of that: Carlos Nájera, who manages the country's post offices, says Costa Rica loses $720 million a year in lost revenue and other costs, as a result.

Almost a quarter of the mail in Costa Rica is returned undeliverable, he says.

"We once got a letter addressed to 'the guy who is sometimes outside of the post office,'" said Pablo Chaves, who is in charge of 22 letter carriers in central San José.

On a recent day, 24-year-old mailman Jonathan Rojas delivered mail to a key-maker whose address is "across from the Crystal Building" in San José. Sometimes even directions on letters are off, he said. "They give me strange directions," he said. "I'll walk 300 meters north and walk back 250."

Life in Costa Rica—where the life-affirming phrase "pura vida" is ubiquitous—has long been good, and not just for the tens of thousands of retirees, surfers and nature enthusiasts, who flock to its tropical beaches and cloud forests.

Education, health care and life expectancy rates are among the highest in the Western Hemisphere.

While farming is no longer its economic backbone, with just over four million people living in an area around the size of New Hampshire and Vermont combined, it is still assumed that you would know your neighbors, local shops, and landmarks old and new.

One of the most commonly used landmarks is el antiguo higuerón, a fig tree that died and was felled years ago. The location is still called "the old fig tree," even though a new one has been growing in its place for several years.

But the economy is growing quickly, faster than most of its neighbors. While some neighborhoods have a grid system and street signs, many Costa Ricans ignore them. New urban developments are popping up overnight, along with shopping centers and food chains. The post office can't keep up with the changing reference points, which can strip even the most official-sounding events of seriousness.

"Across from the service station by Pizza Hut, the Industrial Zone of Pavas" read an emailed invitation to a press conference on regional inequality from the United Nations Development Program.

"We're growing so quickly that we cannot find our way," said Mr. Sancho.

The Casa Presidencial, a nondescript gray block in the Zapote neighborhood, is one landmark that most Costa Ricans know.

"If you asked me the name of the street [in front] I couldn't tell you," said President Laura Chinchilla.

Indeed, the system is very "Tico," Costa Ricans' term of endearment for themselves. While some reference points are long gone, others are very alive.

In the Hatillo district, a labyrinth of subdivisions with obscure references to match, Santiago Calderón, 59 years old, makes a living carving garden ornaments out of discarded wood shipping pallets.

How do customers get to his workshop? "I am the reference. So many people here say 'that corner with the artisan.' "

Reference points are used in lieu of addresses in other places around the world, including India. Closer to home, in Costa Rica's northern neighbor, Nicaragua, residents use "arriba" or "abajo" to indicate up or down a street. Managua's eponymous lake is locals' most commonly used reference point in the capital.

Nicaraguan historian Wilmor López said "it was rumored" at the time U2 released "Where the Streets Have No Name" in 1987, not long after the band's visit there, that Nicaragua's lack of addresses was the hit's inspiration. A spokesperson for the band didn't respond to a query about the song's origins.

In Costa Rica, the system is a safety risk, the government says.

"Imagine there's an emergency and you need an ambulance or the police. You can't say 'I'm in front of the Coca-Cola sign,' " said Public Security Minister Mario Zamora.

Now, Costa Rica's government is trying to turn a corner. Local neighborhoods plan to use their history to formalize streets with proper names.

In Barrio Escalante, there will be no "1st Avenue." In the leafy, partly bohemian neighborhood in San José, architect Luis Diego Baharona is working with the city on a project to name streets. The 300,000 residents here chose street names such as Avenida Santa Teresa, in reference to the neighborhood's largest church, and Calle la Luz because it was in the first area in the country that had electric light.

Another street will be called Paseo Ambos Mares, or "Both Seas Way" after the train that used to run from the Atlantic to Pacific coasts.

Some younger Costa Ricans are eager for a change.

"The reference was the Guanacaste tree," said 27-year-old dental hygienist Andrea Rodríguez, recalling how the host of a recent party used the mushroom-shaped tree to direct her. "But there were so many trees."

Rafael Alpizar, a 72-year-old former auditor at the comptroller's office, disagrees. Once you get used to this system "you die with it."

By Leslie Josephs, WSJ.com

A version of this article appeared June 29, 2012, on page A1 in the U.S. edition of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: When Getting Directions, It Helps To Know Where the Fig Tree Was.