I wouldn’t describe myself as a world traveler, but still – I have visited the Louvre, the White House and the Tower of London. I have driven to the top of a volcano on Maui and walked with my children down the Champs Elysee. And yet, one of my favorite tourist destinations of all time is the Publix Supermarket in Tamarac, Florida.

For years, whenever we would visit my in-laws in Florida, I would look forward to wandering the clean, wide aisles of this market, gape mouthed and in awe of the gleaming rows of produce, packaged goods, and wholesome prepared foods. This store was a direct and glaring contrast to my neighborhood market in New York, which was on its very last legs and had been allowed to devolve into the Bates Motel of food emporiums. It was cramped and gloomy and badly lit, with a low ceiling and an inch of dust on its tired boxes of cereal. The store was redolent with that unmistakable old-supermarket aroma of sour milk and perspiration. The entire market was clearly past its sell-by date.

As befits a retail hell-hole, this supermarket was populated with the shadiest of employees, surly crones who sneered at my cold cut choices, sullen teenage bag boys, and one especially skeevy young man who made a point of licking his fingers before counting out my change. It was so unlike Publix with its aggressively helpful sales staff – good natured retirees who would not only insist on wheeling my cart to the parking lot, they would call me “Miss” in the bargain (by Florida standards, I am dewy and youthful).

The market, finally, was torn down, and its place sprang a structure that rivaled Publix in its size and cleanliness – a model of well-lit, high-ceilinged commercial space. I was thrilled at first, but it wasn’t long before I found fault with my spiffy new market. The size began to feel oppressive, especially if I was running in for just one thing; I began to dread having to drag myself across a space the size of a football field just to buy a pint of fat free half and half. The new store is more expensive than the one it replaced, although I qualify for discounts if I use my member card. Apparently, it is no longer enough to patronize a supermarket – now you are expected to join the supermarket. My member card allows the market to keep track of points I’ve accrued from previous shopping trips. Call me paranoid, but I’m not crazy about having some faceless corporate bureaucracy know every detail of my Chips Ahoy purchasing history.

But mostly I find myself wishing the store was not such an extreme waste of space and resources. Is it really necessary to have a supermarket the size of an airplane hangar? Are slightly cramped aisles such a big price to pay for a store that is less costly to heat and light and air condition? In addition to the reckless waste of fossil fuels, there is something overly sunny and glitzy and un-New York about the new market – buying groceries now makes me feel like one of the Real Housewives of Boca Raton.

I think I preferred this type of happy, shiny shopping experience when it was a break from the norm, a thing to do on vacation before an early dinner in a Florida strip mall. As part of my everyday life it has lost some of its allure. With supermarkets, as with all things, be careful what you wish for.

Editor’s Note: Susan Goldberg is a slightly lapsed treehugger. Although known to overuse paper products, she has the best of intentions – and a really small SUV. Catch her column, The Goldberg Variations, each week here at EcoSalon.

Image: Marcin Wichary

I came across an article today about President Barack Obama encouraging Americans, despite the wake of the oil spill, to visit the Gulf coast. “There’s still a lot of opportunity for visitors to come down here. There are a lot of beaches that have not been affected and will not be affected,” Obama was quoted in June. “If people want to help, the best way to help is to come down here and visit.”

Although Obama is clearly trying to motivate people to continue supporting an arm of the regional economy that’s been hit hard by this oil spill, his encouragement has raised the question over what some call “disaster tourism,” traveling to a disaster area to see what’s going on. Often this kind of tourism has a negative connotation as it implies traveling to a place out of mere curiosity, without the intent of aiding with relief efforts, and in turn, often creating more of a hindrance than help.

But with a situation like the BP oil spill, it IS important to see what’s going on, to experience the culture first-hand and engage with communities that are deeply affected by this disaster. That in no way means hopping on a bus and taking a week to window shop the effects of the disaster, but traveling to the Gulf coast is another way to share with our own communities just what is going on in the region. That’s a key part of traveling to any region that has been severely affected, be it by natural or human induced causes.

When we don’t know and understand a place, it becomes that much easier to make assumptions about it, and the effects of such attitudes are much more widespread than our own social circles. Take Florida for example. According to the em>LA Times, 90 percent of the states’ beaches are still untouched by the BP oil spill. But because of fear, the tourists have pulled away, leaving an economy dependent on visitors wondering just what to do with itself.

“When national media lumps together all four of the Gulf states, that makes it look to the rest of the country as though Florida might be covered in oil,” said Kathy Torian, spokeswoman for Visit Florida.

Which brings us back to the point at hand: can disaster tourism be beneficial? Yes, if it helps people understand the true facts of what is going on in an affected area, helping to connect the dots between infrastructure, economy, culture and beyond. At a very basic level, experiencing a disaster area first hand can aid in helping us understand that often these issues may happen far away from our own homes, but ultimately the effects end up in our own backyard.

Image: minds-eye

It was supposed to be “a monument to unparalleled success”, but what this absurd 90,000-square-foot Florida mansion says to me is “ultimate penis extension.” Forgive me for emitting perhaps the most evil laugh of my life when I saw that the unfinished palace started by time-share tycoon David Siegel is on the market because time shares just aren’t selling like they used to.

Siegel was clearly pretty confident when he started building this totally bonkers “look how rich I am” abode, which features thirteen bedrooms, ten kitchens, a 20-car garage (with extra space for two limos, natch), three pools, a bowling alley, an indoor roller rink, a two-story movie theater, etc. etc.

And for $75 million, guess what you get: a concrete shell. That’s right, this place – located down the street from Tiger Wood’s comparatively primitive residence – sits empty, sadly bereft of ornate wood carvings or details like the planned rotating beds. A virtual tour on the Century 21 website takes you through a creepy naked foyer with a blood-red branching staircase that looks like something straight out of The Shining.

Since Siegel ran out of money, the hypothetical buyer would have to pony up an extra $25 million to have it finished. It’s unlikely to sell anytime soon, considering that property taxes alone will run almost two million a year and there just aren’t that many billionaires in the world.

I have to agree with real estate analyst Jack McCabe, who was quoted by the AP in a write-up on the newly listed property: “This mansion is a great anecdote of the overconsumption that led to the housing bust, and it might be the poster child of such overindulgence.”

36 times bigger than the already bloated average American home, this mansion is – to me – a prime example of the mindset that is damaging our planet beyond belief and causing climate change to loom over us like an apocalyptic storm cloud. Our culture idolizes this sort of sickening display of wealth, so that millions of people believe that they have to own 20 cars and two limos to be considered truly successful.

Really though – 23 bathrooms? What does one do with 23 bathrooms? Delicately wipe one’s aristocratic ass with 23 different species of disposable fur toilet paper rolls? I’m dying to know.

Image: Century 21

Here is another good argument for prefab versus towers.

In southwest Florida, a 32-story, 200-unit condo building has a single tenant, the Vangelakos family of New Jersey, which purchased their $430,000 unit four years ago in the midst of the Fort Myers housing explosion.

According to a report by the Associated Press, the recession has made it tough to be neighborly at the building when there are no neighbors. The family of five is the sole occupier of the Oasis Tower One. When they visit to escape the cold back home, they have their run of the pool, game room and gym, but it’s sometimes scary to be alone in the often darkened tower.

This is not what Victor Vangelakos banked on. The 45-year-old fire captain made a $10,000 down payment and watched an empty lot become the home of an upscale development. But as the report points out, the massive structure, one of many going dark in Florida, symbolizes the foreclosure crisis as an increasing number of residents look for jobs or ways to cut costs.

“The future was going to be southwest Florida,” Vangelakos told A.P., adding he planned to retire and live permanently in the condo.

Apparently, most of the other tenants opted not to close on their contracts. Those that did have transferred to an adjacent building owned by the same company. That building actually has tenants so you aren’t so alone. But Vangelakos says his mortgage lender won’t let him do the same.

“It’s a beautiful building,” said attorney, John Ewing, who is representing 27 others who made deposits on units. “The problem is, it’s a very lonely building.”

Ewing adds that it seems time froze at the building six months ago when the last person signed-in at the front desk located in the lobby.

Will hungry developers keep building towers in the Cape Coral-Fort Myers metropolitan area despite deserted buildings like this one and others? Lee County has some suffered some of the nation’s worst economic stress from foreclosures, unemployment and bankruptcies, according to The Associated Press’ monthly analysis of more than 3,100 U.S. counties.

Perhaps Vegas is next.

Image: Tim Patterson