After a 12 hour flight, a 12 hour layover at LAX and then another 5 hour flight, I've finally arrived in South Florida. The air feels humid and the inhabitants are a mix of elderly couples and young women with brand names written across their bottoms. It's paradise with palm trees and pools – but I've yet to see a pink, plastic flamingo. I think they've gone out with the tides. In my first few days here I've been looking for anything strikingly, well, striking: art, creation, innovation, but I've been met with a lot of blandness.

While brushing my teeth the other morning, I used my time to analyze the wallpaper in the bathroom. It's quite a prominent feature of the room with a burgundy background lush with jungle foliage. Amongst the pattern a lion crouches, eying a monkey, while a gazelle dashes away right behind the lion. Equipped with my background in psychology and feeling a bit zany from jet lag, I decoded the wallpaper until it revealed this message to me: “Be aware of your surroundings. Be in the moment because you may be missing an opportunity that is close to home.” Or some such like that. Then I spat out my toothpaste, rinsed and headed to the back porch. Maybe some gazelle is behind me?

I was met with a sea of perfectly manicured, green, and glistening grass. It was the 14th hole. Par 4. I'd heard my parents mention the beauty they had found in gazing at the course, and although I don't necessarily see the glory of something so filled with pesticides, I can appreciate their sentiments. I reflected on the work put into this man-made playground for those clad in plaid. Amongst the trimmed grass of this course sits pristine lakes sprinkled with fish, sparkling fountains, flowers changed annually by gardeners, and trees shading the ball washers.

With the time spent on these golf courses, it is no wonder that houses located along them are pricier than those “confined” to regular backyards. Some of these residents don't even play golf; they just like the look, and I don't blame them. Golf courses seem to have become the massive zen gardens of Western backyards, and many people living on them are in their golden years, so for them these flattened green backyards are that little peaceful space they'd always been seeking during years of child rearing and corporate work.

Or I might be wrong and should have ended this cascade of thoughts well before I spit out my toothpaste.

Next entry: Monroe, North Carolina, U.S.A.