Vancouver Ventures | DAY 7: (Pt. 1): Permanent Ahgase + East Van Roasters

Saturday morning summoned forth a mix of sensations. I had planned for this appointment months, if not years, in advance, yet my mind swirled with apprehension, anxiety, and fear.

The decision to become a lifelong ahgase had not come easy.
In early 2022, I had stumbled upon Kettle's designs. As per Instagram's algorithm, I was shown images of similar styles in subsequent browsing sessions, though none had spoken to me nearly as strongly. Towards the end of last year, I had succeeded in securing an appointment with her (and even funded a deposit tacked with heavy PayPal fees). It was with much regret that those plans fell through, and the deposit refunded consequentially.

Just a few months prior to departing for Vancouver, my eyes glazed another guest work post from her. This time, the destination was Vancouver.

As promised, the design was discussed and settled two days prior. Nevertheless, this hadn't eradicated the restlessness I'd be experiencing in advance of the procedure.​

My suburban bus route transported me to the Brighouse terminal once more, and I began my trip into downtown. Upon boarding the SkyTrain, I was overwhelmed by early weekend morning commuter volumes. The incredulous number of travellers spanned either tourists with large backpacks or locals in groups of friends. Already a somewhat toasty morning, the boisterous, sardine-style format persisted for majority of the trip and was hardly appreciated.

​At Vancouver City Centre, I'd transfer to the 14 bus into Hastings, and braced myself for the sights to come. Surely enough, we passed several flashing police cruisers along the way. 

The doors opened to reveal more residents of the streets. Lovely.

Pigeon Park was not the delightful urban green space one would anticipate. Infested with goons of all ages, shapes, and sizes, I brazenly weaved through towards the doors of 369 Carrall Street, averting eye contact at all cost and camouflaging trembling pupils underneath blue hair and artificial assurance.

Thankful to have looked up the address prior, I had no issues locating the entrance. The Millennium building was beautiful; the homeless-flooded territory and those with their heads planted at the base of tree roots, butt cracks on full display, were not.

Source: Google Maps, 2022

​I hurried entered the access code as Kettle had informed me, chancing across a thin Korean girl gnawing on an apple at the entrance. We then both took the elevator to the third floor, with "Is that Kettle?" running through my mind the entire time. As it would turn out, my suspicions were correct. As we both stepped into the third floor waiting area, we turned to face each other.
"Are you Kettle?" My eyes bright with anticipation.
"Yes, are you <insert Quirky name here>?"
"Yes!" I replied with an ecstatic nod.

​Inside La Maison was a world utterly unlike the one beyond its heritage façade. Bright, welcoming, and with plenty of shrubbery to complement the rustic décor, instant relief, and temporary disregard for the horrors of Hastings, would be achieved.
Kettle navigated towards one of the salon beds to prepare, gesturing for me to complete the salon's QR code-based waiver in the meantime. Conditions of receiving a tattoo included, but were not limited to, being free of alcohol/drugs, pre-existing skin conditions such as eczema, and acknowledging that the permanent physical change would not entitle one to sue the studio due to potential occupational restrictions. The liability waiver also required upload of ID for record, making the process was more stringent than expected.

The bathroom was a spacious single stall labelled Salle de Bain. One would find mirrored cabinets, Oriental-inspired furnishings, and Le Labo soap. Being the first patron of the day, I found the space to be relatively pristine, save the grimy residue on the soap dispensers and dust on the side table. In the absence of bag hooks, I resorted to setting my bulky backpack - and yoga mat - on the marbled countertop.

Immediately outside the stall was a large fish tank, more wooden elements, and more potted plants. Just one other client was present at the early hour of 10 AM, presumably for her intricate leg piece. This tranquility lasted until the 10:30 AM mark, where a significant number of patrons trickled into the waiting area for 11 AM (or later) appointments.

Kettle presented three sizes of the design for my review, all of which were larger than the anticipated 1 cm x 2 cm. I chose the smallest option, an approximate 2 cm x 3 cm piece. The ink would be transferred onto the desired placement area with a spritz of alcohol. Then, I'd be gestured to wait at a nearby round table in wait of setup.
Interestingly, the illustrations adorning Kettle's own arms were of a style completely unlike her colourful artwork: thin, dark lines and florals could be seen swirling about her forearms and biceps.

From start to finish, the tattoo only required twenty minutes. I'd remove all bracelets and lie face-down on the tattoo bed with Kettle on my right side. Using a fine ink pen, the artist etched the design while pausing every so often to verify the design details on her plastic-wrapped phone. The first few strokes felt like strong pokes and  were largely tolerable. Subsequent jabs for the shading entailed more discomfort, though the outline was undeniably the most painful. The tattoo was arguably less excruciating than a blood test, given its reduced depth, but an open wound nevertheless.

"Done!" She announced after applying a layer of Saniderm.
"That was quick!" I replied, wide-eyed with surprise.
"Because it's small." It was apparent that she was a quiet soul that still struggled with English conversation, but her commitment to swift response times was greatly appreciated.

​Naturally, I inquired of any safety precautions or aspects to be mindful of during the healing process.
"I will send you after-care instructions." She nodded with a smile.
The Saniderm layer was to be removed in 24 hours, while Vaseline was to be applied over the next 2-3 weeks to re-hydrate the skin. Alcohol, especially fermented varieties such as beer or wine, was strictly prohibited for at least one week. Sweat and intense exercise was also advised against.

Physical activity restrictions had fallen within my realm of research, thus I had readied myself accordingly with my own yoga mat, neatly wrapped in plastic to prevent exposure to public transit, and a wristband to prevent accidental friction. That said, I wished I had known of the other restrictions, particularly alcohol, prior to the appointment, such that I could indulge properly before restricting both movement and alcohol intake.

​Wincing as I made my way to the bathroom again, I brought my freshly-affixed ahgase design close to the mirror for inspection. Cool tones such as blue, green, and turquoise had been chosen, though the initial turnout revealed a rainbow-like composition due to the oozing of blood.

​Attempting to capture better images by the window, Kettle appeared with a light tap on my shoulder, pleasantly offering her assistance. I thanked her, for perhaps the fifth time of the morning, and we bonded momentarily over the "scary scene outside" before I bid the serenity of La Maison farewell.

​The lobby was breathtaking, with shiny checkered tiling, gold accents, and even a red carpet. Unthinkable was it that the exterior was at the extreme opposite end of the spectrum.

​Before removing myself from the neighbourhood for good, I headed two doors down to East Van Roasters.

The establishment presented an interesting café concept with emphasis on chocolate as well as coffee. Seemingly a highly sought-out destination by out-of-towners, my brief stopover saw interactions with a chocolate lover from Seattle and a couple who absolutely adored he Empress blend, even sharing that they enjoyed it thoroughly throughout the pandemic and got promptly addicted afterwards. The wife explained that she had been introduced to the blend through the husband, who buys different beans to try out. As her preferences do not align entirely with that of her husband's, she confirmed Empress to be delicious in cold brew format (iced, black) as well as hot and with milk/cream (the standard cup for the gentleman). A wonderful little coffee-centric chat it was.

​At my time of entry, the cashier had also audibly curious about my yoga mat, expressing a notably improved quality of life after being consistent with her practice. At noticing my McMaster lanyard, further exchange would take place, eventually revealing her Guelph origins. Who would have known?! In that moment, I was reminded of the Paragon staff member who had migrated from Mississauga.

​Making haste, I boarded the first available bus back into downtown. With the earlier-than-expected termination of the tattoo appointment, I was bestowed the opportunity for a retail stopover. The impromptu decision led to browsing of a substantially-sized Miniso stocked with BT21 characters.

Opting to cross directly from the bus shelter instead of making my way to the signalized intersection led to a bus angrily honking at me from at least 500 m way. This response alerted me, confirming the infrequency of jaywalking, unlike in Toronto.

I would also obtain a small tube of Vaseline from London Drugs, for it was, oddly, nowhere to be seen at Shoppers.

​Mid-morning cravings propelled me into Tim Hortons, where a warmed Four Cheese Twist would be acquired.

The dining area was vacant, the staff were pleasant and the Savoury Pastry was scrumptious and gratifying. But the process of trekking past two homeless with grimy, near all-black toes to the entrance was admittedly unseemly.

Read Part 2 HERE !