New York | DAY 3: (Pt. 1) 9/11 Memorial + Innisfree Union Square

​Before I headed down to the Big Apple, I had big plans to be a big tourist during my stay. From The Statue of Liberty to Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan Bridge, there were many places I had wished to visit prior to physically finding myself in New York. Ultimately, I didn't end up going to the aforementioned places. Nor did I turn out to be as enthusiastic of a tourist as I had pictured.

​Other than Times Square, we managed to visit one more noteworthy spot during our stay: the September 11th Memorial nestled between the numbered World Trade Centers.

​We didn't bother with guided tours or museum tickets, as the point of the excursion was simply to deepen our knowledge. The area was paved nicely, with spacious spotless tiles that lay flush. Greenery was abundant and architectural wonders were recurrent.

​In place of the Twin Towers that had originally stood upright, the grounds had been remediated into two pools. They were termed the North Pool and South Pool respectively. Names of the victims of the attacks were engraved onto the border of each pool.

Outside the museum were interactive panels that allowed visitors to search up specifics of the incident, though the system was ultimately found to be faulty and unusable.
Museum access was strictly forbidden to all attendees that did not hold admission tickets - not even a peak of the interior was allowed.

View the full album HERE !

​Having acquainted ourselves with the current status of the World Trade Centers, we decided to move onto our next stop of the day. A second Blue Bottle location was discovered at the ground level of one of the World Trade Centers during our hunt for bathrooms. This one, in contrast to the Midtown spot, was much better illuminated. A sophisticated vibe resonated throughout the cafe, though seating was rather cramped in spite of the tall ceilings. Its menu differed slightly in that it did not offer the Oji Cold Brew, but did carry the Cascara Fizz.

I'll be transparent and admit that we did not purchase anything. We merely waited for our turn in front of the numerical lock-bearing single stall. The interior was clean and had a simplehuman garbage bin like the one featured in Liah Yoo's video. A part of me was slightly saddened that it did not operate on voice commands though.

​We took subway to 14th Street/Union Square, where a Friday afternoon Farmer's Market was taking place.

​The street event comprised of various produce vendors, dairy and maple syrup stalls, and even one retailing essential oils and exquisite bundles of lavender. Lavender on the Bay's booth radiated with soothing, alluring aromas. I was tempted to make a purchase, but ultimately held off in fear of having the buds deteriorate over the course of the day.

​Departing the market empty-handed, I made a beeline for innisfree's NYC flagship store.

​It was here that I became a wild, penniless consumer.

Having never set food in an official/exclusive innisfree retailer, I was in utter awe at the selection before my eyes. It far surpassed that of the tiny shops in Pacific Mall, or even the Nature Republic in Aberdeen. Frankly, it was more expansive than any store housed within a shopping centre.

​This particular innisfree was home to an almost-complete assortment of goods, with the exception of those that had sold out due to popularity. From creams to colour cosmetics to a tester-lined hand-washing station, the range of items was seemingly endless.

​Approximately two hours passed without my realization. I concluded my hefty purchase with two custom masks - one clay base and one cream base. The concept of concocting a (supposedly) preservative-free product to target specific needs was the epitome of skincare personalization. I was instantly sold! (And that probably wasn't a good thing.)

​It neared 2 PM as I departed the store, arms heavy with new splurges. We headed two spaces down to Chipotle for our late lunch fix.

Before I inform readers of my thoroughly treacherous experience at the American franchise, I encourage all interested parties to familiarize themselves with my prior experiences at the chain's Canadian locations.

First and foremost, the interior was dim. It lacked the illumination offered by standalone locations, causing it to lean towards The Burger Priest's dingy outpost on Adelaide. Moreover, it was stuffy with not a lot of comfortable seating.

The lunch rush had passed, but a lineup persisted. Seeing the hurried, unbothered pace adopted by customer service representatives, it wasn't difficult to understand why patrons moved so swiftly along the line. To be honest, I couldn't hear or understand anything of what was being uttered or asked. Loud mechanical equipment sounded from all directions, and the ladies spoke with such thick accents that, even as a Canadian, I could not perceive a word.

​Thankfully, I had familiarized myself with the menu enough to know the exact item I wished to order.
Not-so-thankfully, this favourite of mine turned out to be the runner-up for the foulest meal of the trip (with the first being Chau Down).

To note about the Taco Salad with Beef were the following points:
- The beef bites were far spicier and saltier than at home. In addition they contained tough bits of fat and inedible parts.
- The "sour cream" wasn't even CREAM. It was RUNNY, like the consistency of depressed whipping cream
- The lettuce wasn't shredded, but rather more seasoned and kinda wilted
- I was somehow charged for a Taco Salad as opposed to a Taco Bowl with lettuce (?!)

​Service staff were pushy, rude, and, overall, difficult to comprehend. One can imagine my expression when the amount relayed to me was more extravagant than the dish's Canadian equivalent - with the currency conversion!
An additional charge had been slapped on for the guacamole - unsurprising - but the amount provided was meager (only two-thirds of the norm). Even then, it tasted more like two level teaspoons of extremely potent sea salt than buttery, satisfying avocado paste.

​Finally, I shall draw attention to the bathroom. The single stall was secured with a numerical code that appeared only at the bottom of Chipotle receipts. This seemed a common occurence in New York, whether I was a fan of the system or not. As with all public facilities in the area, it was in dire need of regular maintenance.

​For a Mexican franchise whose origins hailed from the United States, this visit left an extremely bitter taste in my mouth. Perhaps I cannot speak for all of its American outposts, but this exact location was despicable.
I mean, it's definitely saying something if the Canadian expansions are executing your concept more effectively.

Read Part 2 HERE !

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