Condé Nast Traveler | With What3words Your New Address May Be “Famous.Heats.Refers”
When I lived in Gaborone, Botswana, my address was for all intents and purposes the following: turn right at the KFC, take another right, and it’s the one with the white gate, number 67685. This “address,” mind you, was used exclusively for friends and taxi drivers: I never received a single piece of mail at my house. For that, I needed to find a friendly business in the city who would let me use their “Postal Bag,” the southern African equivalent of a P.O. Box. I know my street had a name and a postal code of some sort, but to this day I wouldn’t be able to tell you what they were. What if I could have had any letters, care packages, and deliveries sent straight to “trunk.stopper.forgot”?