Have you got lost in the new super Walmart yet? We kept hearing reports that it's not so super anymore so we decided to go and see for ourselves.

We pulled into the oceanic parking field and parked near one of the three entrances. There is clearly an attempt to break down the scale of the even bigger-than-the-last-big-box by representing the building as a pseudo streetscape. However, in reality it is still a blank wall. Think about how different it would feel if there were windows that displayed products, enticing you with the treasures within. But the building turns its back on the community outside. There is no meaningful transition between exterior and interior. Although there is an airlock entry, it contains nothing except rather confusing entry and exit signs above identical glass doors.

We walked through the door and were faced with a seemingly endless field of merchandise. We decided to take a spin around the store to get our bearings. We hook a left, attracted by the vibrant yellow of the market section. The back wall undulated and the ceiling was dropped in the bakery area, which creates a more human scale, reinforced by a zone of lowness, filled with chest coolers and wide aisles. In addition, green signs and orange highlights (as well as wicked good deals) combined to whet the appetite. They've got me. I can't resist a $5 bag of trail mix.

The new store has much higher levels of daylight, coming in from the many skylights overhead. The effect of the daylight is tangible. Walmart discovered this in their pilot Ecomart, where there was only enough money in the budget to daylight half the store. However, within the first two months they discovered that sales in the day-lit half of the store had increased significantly. "Walmart is now funding almost more daylighting research than anyone else we have come across,” according to Andrew Scott in Dimensions of Sustainability.

We jumped back onto the two-lane highway that rings the store. Unfortunately, the minute we turned right, we lost our sense of orientation, faced with a sea of greyness and trusses. Unlike the yellow wall, which pulled us toward the market, there was nothing to highlight the other sections of the store. It would have been so easy to paint the far wall green to attract us to the garden section. The Walmart blue would have much more impact if it was presented against a different color. It ceases to be identifiable as a logo color, and instead just drably blends into the uninspired gray walls, ceilings and trusses. The blue signs told us where to go, but only just.

We rounded another corner, only to be approached by a Walmart representative, asking us what we are doing. Apparently, to take a photograph in a Walmart store, you have to fill out an application form ahead of time, requesting permission and be vetted by corporate management.

Feeling discouraged, we weaved our way between racks of roast chicken and T-shirts, slightly grossed out by the presence of greasy food right next to pristine white clothing. Maybe in Walmart's world, it's all just stuff. We are looking for somewhere to sit and grab a coffee, but faced with a cramped and uninviting Subway, we decide to head for Main Street Rockland and a real cup of coffee at Atlantic Baking Company.

Walmart could take some cues from Hannaford. Though admittedly a smaller organization, the local Hannafords have got better while also getting bigger through intelligent and attractive interior design. Color is used consistently to pull you through the store and inject a welcome humanity into the weekly grocery trip. A Julia Child quote on the wall elevates the shopping experience into the realm of culture as opposed to pure consumption. You can buy produce from local farms and see what's happening in the community on the bulletin board. Despite its size, Hannafords still feels like a local store.

While we applaud the efforts Walmart is making to be more ecological and create a more human scale in its stores, in reality, Walmart is a self-contained bubble, rather than part of the fabric of our towns. Maybe it is the nature of the beast that a transnational corporation cannot scale down enough to meaningfully connect with its local community but given that they are here, we would like to see them keep trying.

More Design Notes:

• The bliss of the bedroom: In praise of nests

• The utility of Maine style: From barrel staves to clapboards

• Design Notes: An introduction

• The Welcome Mat: The story of front and back

• Moments of Delight 1: Boynton–McKay Food Co.

• Is It Food Or Is It Art? Rockland's Main Street

• The domestication of the garage

Chris Wohler came to Camden 20 years ago after living in New York for 24 years. She has a Bachelor of Arts in history from Cornell University and a Master of Architecture from Columbia University. She has taught at Ball State University, Parsons School of Design and Columbia University. Her design practice, Breathing Space, encompasses everything from architectural design to retail merchandising.

She likes blackbirds, crosswords, babies, Miles Davis, avocados, quantum physics, Robert Frank, chartreuse, Puccini, roses, graphite drawings, the collaborative process, Great Danes, Patti Smith, gardening, J.S. Bach’s Suites for Solo Cello, architectural plans, movies, Philip Pullman, cooking with friends, everything by Beethoven, New York City and her two sons who currently live there. Reach her at breathingspace2@gmail.com.

Rosie Curtis lives in Camden and teaches architecture at UMA.

Originally from England, she has been designing and building in Midcoast Maine for the last 20 years, although she indulges in a spot of work for a British engineering firm now and then. She holds two bachelor’s degrees and a master’s degree in architecture and has been interested in the built environment her whole life. She believes that design is fundamentally about things working well and looking good. Her two kids are fed up of hearing her pontificate about all things design related and hope this column will provide a channel for her endless wonderings. Reach her at rosie@fairpoint.net.