Calgary | ​DAY 2: (Pt. 3) Inglewood + Kensington Village

Read Part 2 HERE !

​Rosso 17th Ave did not carry the twenty-four dollar Essentials kit I had been eyeing on their website. The barista had informed me only select locations carried the product, namely the Tuxedo and Inglewood locations. On the map, they appeared quite far. Investigating further though, both were, in fact, under twenty minutes away.

This information was relayed to the sleepy polar bear, who agreed on venturing east to find the product of interest. "Did you still want to walk around Chinatown?"
I pondered the prospect, then suggested reviewing the possibility after the detour.

​Crossing over Elbow River into Inglewood, I really wasn't sure what to expect on the other side. The district appeared fairly developed, their colourful murals intriguing and wide concrete sidewalks inviting for a stroll. With two lanes in each direction and the curb lane partially occupied by ice and snow debris, the path grew narrow.

The sleepy polar bear demonstrated some degree of difficulty slipping into the closest street parking spot, though we managed in the end, with one wheel on the ice, like every other vehicle in the lane.

​Outside Rosso, we spotted yet another lime green fire hydrant. Darting about it was a solo adventurer: a black-bodied bird with a white tummy and long, black tail streaked with blue. The same species had been spotted earlier in the day while traversing along the highway; those, on the other hand, fluttered in a group.

To my dismay, the Inglewood Rosso did not carry the Essential Collection Box either. The staff had been kind enough to make correspondence with the other location for confirmation, despite the heavy customer volume. We learned that the item was apparently an online exclusive only until five days ago, and neither Tuxedo nor Inglewood locations had received their allotted inventory as yet.

​Rather than drifting out emptyhanded, I resorted to individual bags of beans for experimentation. The bearded cashier had advertised Lover Boy, the coffee shop's bourbon-tinged roast of the month for February, prompting purchase of the 200 g limited time offer. While browsing the shelf for a second option, another staff member came to our assistance, offering recommendations to suit my preferred brewing method(s). The standard-sized (340 g) Kilimbi was also chosen on the basis of being suitable for both filter and espresso, and adopting a light yet sweet profile.

​While I headed to the back of the café in search of the washroom, the sleepy polar bear took to another caffeinated beverage. This time was an Iced Sweet Latte. The decision took me by surprise, as it implied that the Nanaimo Cream hadn't sufficed in filling the void. The claim was refuted, for hot and iced drinks were supposedly ranked differently. Regardless, the Sweet Latte earned undeniable favouritism. Personally, the drink was too milky overall, retaining unnecessary sweetness and minimal roast notes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a lever. Rosso Inglewood carried cold brew on tap too! Curious but conservative, I would refuse a second cup of coffee within a two-hour window, especially after 5 PM.

​Unlike the 17 Ave location, Inglewood's lavatories did not require a key for access. Two compact stalls were found behind the drink preparation area. They were dimly lit and not very pristine, with an overflowing wastebin reflective of high traffic volumes.

Sauntering about until sundown, I took interest in Purr, a clothing retailer with four locations within a 6 km radius of each other.

​The interior comprised most of wood: rickety wood flooring and a dilapidated ramp up to the fitting rooms. Purr gave off a vintage vibe, though the clothes were new as opposed to thrifted.

​Up until their closing time of 6 PM, I continued to analyze the sale racks, which were labelled by size from XL to XS. Clothing was the last thing I had expected to buy in Calgary, but the price was right. The pieces could easily be incorporated into workwear, as most of the world gradually eases back into working away from home and back in the office.

​All, if not most, stores would shutter around the 6pm mark. An exception to this was Oak & Vine. Private liquor stores are common throughout the city, though the lack of regulation does spark concern from within. Similar to Vancouver (Vancity Vibes D13), beer was retailed in small format cans - 355 ml instead of the 473 ml equivalent of an American pint. Thankfully, I wasn't restricted to purchasing in six-packs.
The store was a wealth of local craft beers. With the assistance of a nearby staff member, I received a number of recommendations to suit my palate.

The vivid selection was narrowed down to:

• Alley Kat Brewing's The Mangolorian Mango Ale, a mango-flavoured wheat ale
• Ol'Beautiful Brewing's Okami Kasu Japanese Ale, a funky lager with traces of sake kasu
• Makku, a small batch producer of makgeolli hailing from New York

By this point, the sun had long set. Quarter past six, my watch read. We slowly made our way back to the car, navigating around restaurant goers and early bar hoppers. A local bus route ran up and down along 9 Ave; some passengers disembarked around the 9 Ave/12 St stop. Initially, we hadn't thought much about it, not until a middle-aged lady approached us.
"May I bother you for a moment?" She cooed.
"Yes." I turned to her and responded in my default work tone, though my brows furrowed, anxious that she would ask us, non-locals, for directions.
"I like your purple jacket." She commented before continuing onto her main story. It began with an immense number of unnecessary details, easing into how "someone ran away" with her rent money. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but my rent is $125 and I'm just $25 short of $125."
My gaze softened at the mention of money, not because I was growing soft-hearted towards her sap story, but because I was certain of her motive. Bracing myself for her evidence-less request for money, I began to scan the woman up and down for signs of homelessness. Her faux leather red handbag appeared in decent condition; her nails didn't seem very filthy, but her fingertips were dark. Surely enough, the appeal for cash was uttered.
The sleepy polar bear turned to me, as if asking for permission. I casually, and blatantly, announced that we did not have any, then grabbed my companion's arm. "We also gotta go." Spinning on my heel, I didn't turn back until we were a good distance away. When I peeked over my shoulder, the lady, too, had turned away. It was with a sigh of relief that the rejection hadn't been met with physical aggression.

​"Would you have given her money?" I asked as seat belts were snapped into place.
"Maybe. I'm in a good mood today." came the foolish response.
"Why?!" My tone spiked. "You don't even know if she's telling the truth."
"She could be."
"She could be, but how would you know?" The retorts came with swiftness. "If you want to donate, then do it through the proper channel, like my cookie box. How do you know she's not going to use it for something else?"
"Twenty-five dollars isn't a lot."
"Not a lot?! Twenty-five dollars is a lot!" I recalled the petty complaints towards winter tires and Uber fares. "Twenty-five dollars here, twenty-five dollars there - this lady could make hundreds just by scamming people by talking, and you'd fall for it! If you have an extra twenty-five, why not spend it on something you want? Or spend it on me, or your friends, or your mom."
Before I could continue, both of us spotted the lady at the corner of 9 Ave and 11 St, making hand gestures and begging for sympathy from another group who had been talked into wasting several minutes of their lives.
​
"Point proven." I turned to the sleepy polar bear with a knowing, squinty-eyed stare.

En route to dinner, we opted to drive through Chinatown instead of exploring on foot. The decision was well-informed, for the neighbourhood appeared unnerving with a noticeable lineup of homeless residents assimilating along Riverfront Avenue. A flashing ambulance was parked nearby with hi-vis jacket-donning personnel outside of it. Whether the two sightings were related is another story.

​Getting grouchier by the minute, the sleepy polar bear and I parted ways momentarily for parking and table securing purposes.
Vero Bistro had been the sole itinerary item not planned by me. The restaurant was small but beautiful, with a curtained entrance and flickering, delicate string lights dangling from the ceiling. Reflective edges within restaurant made it seem larger than it actually was. It was absolutely bustling on a Saturday evening, its demographic based primarily of elderly people dressed in a sophisticated manner happily chatting away.

​One of the servers acknowledged my presence, confirmed my lack of a reservation, then went to check the table list. At laying eyes on the scene, a part of me had desperately hoped that there would be no tables available, such that we could held elsewhere for a quick dinner and return to the hotel. Such leisurely dining excursions ought be paired with business casual attire and calm dispositions, not the dirt water-stained complexions we had endured.
The server returned to deliver splendid news: There were no tables available until 8:30 PM, approximately 105 minutes later. Joyously, I exited the premises and declared our closest alternative: Tuk Tuk Thai.

​The sleepy polar bear deemed it "fast food", again on the account that table service was nonexistent. Frankly, I couldn't care less about that aspect, for server interactions only proved to hinder the flow of a meal. I was more than ecstatic to simply get the supper over with.

​Clean washroom stalls were granted for our use following order placement. Inside, I found modern, black-and-white tiling and the exact toilet from my own washroom back home - what an amusing coincidence!

The lime-less Shrimp Pad Thai went by unsampled, though was informed to be average overall.

My own Swimmer Rama with Chicken and Coconut Rice was passable. The coconut rice did not retain coconutty aromas at all, however its short-grain, non-glutinous properties did pair nicely with peanut sauce. The dish tasted akin to a mild Khao Soi, creamy with bits of chicken, neither tender nor overdone.

​The Pork Ribs were tasty, bearing crispy edges with exceptionally fatty sections yet still a good amount of meat. Strong whiffs of vinegar succeeding in alleviating greasiness; one could liken the flavour to Chinese Fried Pork Ribs with Black Vinegar, but Tuk Tuk Thai's variation possessed a richer flavour profile with equal amounts of savouriness and acidity. Remnants of the meal were taken back and stored in the fridge, though ultimately abandoned due to lack of leftover depleting opportunities.

​I enjoyed the Mangolorian on the ride back, simultaneously providing navigation services when Android Auto faltered mid-trip.

Naturally, I couldn't resist unsheathing one of the two Envy apples I can procured earlier in the day. It was as floral,  juicy, and sweet as my grandmother had declared. The West Coast produce selection was certainly different from ours.

​Then, it came to sorting my souvenirs.

​From coffee to skincare to chocolate, I had purchased quite a lot for my first full day in the city. Yet, there were no regrets.

Over an hour later, I had succeeded in compacting the assortment into three small packages. I would then proceed to tint my hair in preparation for the wedding to come.

Alberta, like BC, was home to soft water. This observation was made with glee, for purple tones persisted as purple even without purple shampooing efforts.​