I try to stay up-to-date on news in the world of urban planning, and I came across an interesting article this morning. It's in The Atlantic Cities blog--one of my favorite sources for planning news--and the article looks at a recent analysis of walkability and access to food in American cities. The analysis considered how many Americans live within a five-minute walk of a store selling quality food. It isn't surprising that very few Americans can take a quick stroll to a store, and those Americans mostly live in major urban centers like New York and San Francisco. The worst major cities included such towns as Indianapolis and Charlotte, where only five percent of residents live within a walkable distance from a grocery store. I fear my native Cleveland wouldn't score much better. Here's the article: In the U.S., a Quick Walk to the Store Is a Rare Thing Indeed
Vladimir, on the other hand, would actually score very well. There's a store right next to my apartment building, and there are many stores and two bus stops within a five-minute walk. That's compact urbanism at work. That said, many Americans would be disappointed at what they'd find at those stores. I remember the first time I went into a Russian grocery store--I realized that there isn't much of anything appealing on all those shelves. At the nearest grocery store--a place called Pyatyorichka--you'll find an isle devoted to little candies, an isle with bleach-white pasta and other cheap grains, a huge alcohol section, and a freezer full of pelmeni and other frozen foods. There's a small case of meat (often dangerously close to the expiration date), a larger case full of sausages (probably a safer, if less healthy, bet), and a section with vegetables. Those vegetables are really hit-or-miss: The only safe options are potatoes, onions, and carrots; the peppers, cucumbers, and tomatoes are often all mushy and shriveled. My roommate have invented a new slogan for that grocery store: "Pyatyorichka--where we couldn't care less."
Griping aside, it is really nice to have a place close by when I need some milk or eggs or something else basic. At my house in America, the nearest store is a five-minute drive away, and, while I love driving, it's nicer and healthier to be able to take a little walk and get what I need instead of burning fossil fuel and risking getting hit by a truck out on the roads.
Vladimir, on the other hand, would actually score very well. There's a store right next to my apartment building, and there are many stores and two bus stops within a five-minute walk. That's compact urbanism at work. That said, many Americans would be disappointed at what they'd find at those stores. I remember the first time I went into a Russian grocery store--I realized that there isn't much of anything appealing on all those shelves. At the nearest grocery store--a place called Pyatyorichka--you'll find an isle devoted to little candies, an isle with bleach-white pasta and other cheap grains, a huge alcohol section, and a freezer full of pelmeni and other frozen foods. There's a small case of meat (often dangerously close to the expiration date), a larger case full of sausages (probably a safer, if less healthy, bet), and a section with vegetables. Those vegetables are really hit-or-miss: The only safe options are potatoes, onions, and carrots; the peppers, cucumbers, and tomatoes are often all mushy and shriveled. My roommate have invented a new slogan for that grocery store: "Pyatyorichka--where we couldn't care less."
Griping aside, it is really nice to have a place close by when I need some milk or eggs or something else basic. At my house in America, the nearest store is a five-minute drive away, and, while I love driving, it's nicer and healthier to be able to take a little walk and get what I need instead of burning fossil fuel and risking getting hit by a truck out on the roads.
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