The night had been spent in distress. Maybe it was thin walls that caused sounds of running water and booming television programs to be heard even while lying in complete darkness, or maybe it was the riotous whirring of construction equipment that contributed to endless restlessness. I tossed and turned underneath the weighty blankets, coming face to face with the red glow of the digital clock once every hour. Just under six hours had managed to be scraped together by the time striking UV rays beamed through the tall curtains.
I had intended to stop by Blue Bottle Coffee on the day of arrival, but found 4th Street to terminate at a covered parking building shortly after embarking on the journey. It did not connect from Flower to Hope. Reviewing alternatives on Google Maps, I discovered that I could also head north to 3rd Street and continue westward until Broadway.
Unbeknownst to me was the presence of the Third Street Tunnel – a two-lane, one-way covered bypass in the form of a chillingly quiet tunnel. Cracks were seen propagating on the underside of the entranceway, while lumpy clusters of mold and other foreign substances lined the entire span of its curved walls.
Despite the comfortable weather conditions and very fact that it was still broad daylight, the bypass gave off an ominous aura not dissimilar to those associated with 3 am crime scenes. Drip drip could be heard echoing between the whizzing by of cars. The silhouette of two pedestrians trudged ahead of me in the far distance. The light at the end of the tunnel seemed close at first, but the trek along this stretch of 3rd Street felt incessant.
I picked up speed, hoping to terminate the tunnel trip as soon as possible, especially when a troubling gust hit me from behind. There were no shadows that could be seen – only the silent streak of a man on his bicycle. He gave me a quick nod before continuing his way. Craning my neck to inspect my surroundings yet again, I heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing that there wasn’t a single body within my 50 m radius.
Exiting Third Street Tunnel provided me with peace of mind. Not too far from its east entrance was Grand Central Market, and near it my source of refuge: Blue Bottle Coffee.
Exiting Third Street Tunnel provided me with peace of mind. Not too far from its east entrance was Grand Central Market, and near it my source of refuge: Blue Bottle Coffee.
The café retained a layout similar to that of Rocanini in Steveston, but with a heavier use of exposed concrete pillars and matte-white Greek columns – Corinthian, to be exact. Seating was ample, ranging from communal tables with tall stools, ground-level tables for small parties, and even individual seats along the Cold Brew Bar.
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I was greeted immediately upon entry, and took the opportunity to inquire about their best-selling beverage. The New Orleans Iced Coffee was recommended to me; at $4.00, it was quite a substantial price tag for a drink devoid of additional espresso/flavour shots. On the other hand, the inclusion of whole milk rendered it comparable to an iced latte, which isn’t a competitive item to begin with.
The New Orleans Iced Coffee wasn’t particularly strong-tasting in terms of boldness, however its steady strength was sufficient to wake me from an uneasy night of tossing and turning.
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Since I couldn’t afford to survive another day on wretched gruel such as the low-quality scraps from Ondal, it was of top concern that I obtain something of substance to start my second day in the city properly. Many con-goers had advised bringing snacks to sustain oneself through the weekend, though I can’t agree with that suggestion. Solid meals should be consumed to maintain energy, nutrition, and stamina.
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Heartier than the standard baked good, I opted for a $6.00 cup of Muesli. Frankly speaking, it was probably one of the least economic breakfasts I had ever swiped for. In spite of this, I had not a single regret regarding my choice. The cup consisted of overnight oats, several crunchy bits of fruit, and crispy pumpkin seeds; each spoonful instilled energy and boosted vitality. Most importantly, it was tasty and satisfying without being satiating. Come to think it, it was actually priced on par with Toronto cafes too, post exchange rate.
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Grand Central Market had originally been dismissed from the to-go list in fear of the presence of the homeless population. But seeing as it was on route to the bus stop, and still very early in the day, I crossed the street for a swift tour of the food stalls anyway.
The homeless population apparently hadn’t risen yet, since the bulk of Grand Central’s customers were clad in pristine t-shirts and knee-length shots. Some were evidently tourists, cameras in hand and sunnies on forehead, while others were locals looking to grab a quick bite with friends and family.
The homeless population apparently hadn’t risen yet, since the bulk of Grand Central’s customers were clad in pristine t-shirts and knee-length shots. Some were evidently tourists, cameras in hand and sunnies on forehead, while others were locals looking to grab a quick bite with friends and family.
As orangecane had mentioned, the line for Eggslut was tremendous, much lengthier than any other vendor. Other shops retained decent wait times (and extraordinary fumes). As expected, Grand Central Market was essentially DTLA’s version of St. Lawrence, just on a smaller scale with fewer souvenir shops and produce stalls.
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I zipped through without making a single purchase, since I could not afford to be delayed for my first Artist Engagement session of the weekend. Twenty plus-minutes later though, I found myself snapping photos of flowers while anxiously poking my head onto the street to verify the degree of lateness for the bus.
Eventually, I found myself on the appropriate route and sat myself down next to a girl donning an identical convention wristband. She was a local, and more than happy to guide me through the convention booths before I had to run for SF9’s session.
An Audience pass secured me a spot in the crowd to watch SF9’s Q&A and Games sessions, in addition to a view of their interactions with the Hi-Touch pass recipients. As a being of small stature, little could be seen behind the rows of phones and signs. On tiptoes (and with occasional bunny jumps), I caught sight of the members’ heads from time to time. This became a rather unfortunate case during the Games session (ie. impromptu dance time), as the only unblocked view I managed to capture with strained calves was from the waist up.
I enjoyed this experience nonetheless. It was fun and most definitely engaging, even if I hadn’t been a part of the Hi-Touch crowd. Conversations were also exchanged with those nearby and friendships were established quickly. An astounding number of attendees had decided to participate without the company of friends. Personally, I didn’t feel as if this mattered at all, for not all friends would share the same musical interests nor Artist Engagement passes anyway.
The convention booths located on the lower level of the Los Angeles Convention Centre was an extraordinary collection of Korean food-, beauty-, fashion-, pop culture-related stands. Many even offered free samples and goody bags with the mere prompt of a social media button. Lineups coiled around the booths were K-Pop artists were anticipated to reveal themselves, so extra care was taken to avoid such areas.
By chance though, we happened to be leisurely waltzing about when Kevin Woo, member of K-Pop group U-KISS and fixed MC of After School Club, made his grand entrance at the Star Square booth. The crowds were smaller at this time of the day, but ASTRO, VIXX, and Wanna One were bombarded at the Toyota and Innisfree booths.
The KCON Food Street found outside of the convention centre operated throughout the weekend in a night market fashion. Bubble tea (or “boba” in the United States), takoyaki, egg waffles, grilled seafood, and other popular street snacks could be found being retailed at standard night market prices.
I made a beeline for Boba Bear’s Mason Jar Milk Tea, but was utterly disappointed when a typical plastic cup was handed to me after the relinquishing of five dollars. My shock was met with the response that mason jars could not be offered on the basis of KCON’s “no glass” policy. The contents of the cup itself were honestly very average.
Traditional Korean snacks weren’t exactly economic either. Soondae, ddeokbokki, and kimbap were spotted selling for $10 each. We settled on splitting the kimbap and consuming six to seven rolls each.
Since the stout middle-aged lady refused to approve my re-admission onto convention grounds solely based on my possession of a Sharpie, I headed elsewhere instead.
Continue reading Part 2 HERE !
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