City of Witches

Too bad I haven't seen any witches yet. That crest is probably the most exciting part of the whole neighborhood.

Rich people have always confounded me. Especially in their choices of where they decide to live. Why the isolation?

Security is obviously one thing. The desire for peace and quiet is another. Yet isn't it possible to have those things without sealing yourself into an over-sized condo with nothing but the TV for company?

Why is it that the world's oligarchs never live in communities? Why do they always drop themselves beside what are basically highways, with no schools, shops, parks, cafes, or anything else within walking distance - not as if they could walk, because there are almost never any sidewalks?

Of course, it is assumed that rich people have cars, and often drivers as well. Personally I find that a little indecent. I can't demand that somebody else devote the major part of his day to ferry me to get a croissant or to see a friend. That's the kind of thing I only ask of family members.

The Tico Times (local English-language newspaper) just ran a story about the recent census, where local census-takers complained about the difficulty of navigating winding streets, endlessly barred gates, guard dogs, and complex security systems just to ask basic questions of the residents within:

In light blue vests, four student census workers and their 22-year-old supervisor wandered through Escazú, west of San José.

The fivesome walked up steep roads, skipped over rocks to cross streams, dealt with barking dogs – and got lost.

Student census workers heeded a last- minute call of duty to assist in the task of surveying an estimated 1.3 million households. Approximately two dozen were sent to Escazú, where they encountered many obstacles. But none were more daunting than the area’s numerous condominiums. Security guards denied access to many census takers, as the upper-class neighborhood presented a challenge to the young pollsters.

...

It’s been complicated,” Sura said. “Not everyone is here and I’m going to have to keep coming back.”

It’s 1 p.m. already. She figured her day could go until 8 p.m.

At the nearby Paco Center, in downtown Escazú, some of the student enumerators hail taxis looking to grab some lunch. Sura seemed to have the best luck of all of them so far. Many never made it past the security guards, and had to leave forms with them to pick up later. One worker held up two fingers, when asked if she was able to talk to any residents. García herded her colleagues into a taxi. She waited for another one. The morning had been both tiresome and baffling. That wasn’t the worst part.

“We spoke to nobody,” García said, “We kept going around and around didn’t get to speak with anyone.”

Why be rich if you have to hide away?