I've had a couple requests for my address in Costa Rica. Well, funny that. There are no street names in San Jose, CR, the capital city of around one million people. Mmm hmm. No street names. (Lin, I see you cackling like mad. At least the iPhone GPS would be doubly useful.)
So imagine hailing a cab. You get in, and you say... I need to go 225 meters north of Central Park South and 100 meters west of the Sam Adams statue. It's a green two-story house with a white picket fence. THAT'S how you get around. Now, if your Spanish isn't too good, this prospect is terrifying, and I'll let you know how that challenge pans out when I get to it. (Which is tomorrow morning.) Also... this is how the electric and garbage companies bill you. Your address is, how shall we say?, a narrative to them. The writer in me is amused, but holy cow!! I'm amazed that it can work. There are neighborhoods, so that does narrow things down a bit, and there are a few main roads that are numbered, so that helps too. But try to imagine it... putting an ad in the paper for your business, giving directions or getting mail.
So. No address. Honestly. You can rent PO Boxes of sorts, but we don't have one, and I'm just going to live without mail for a few months.
And now the money. The phenomenon of foreign money feeling fake has been well documented. Even in France, the Euro was like play-money, and cash was pretty easy to burn through. But today I had a pizza for 6,000 dollars! Well, not dollars. Colones. And a glass of wine for 1,500! John will be so proud of the money system, because it makes me better at math... although 500 colones is $1, so it's pretty quick, yet it does still get me thinking.
But, man. A 10,000 bill ain't no thang. And that feels pretty sweet.