My friends and I found Arcadian Books by chance, just a couple of blocks away from Jackson Square in the French Quarter. Once I took a proper look inside the shop, I actually stopped breathing for a moment.
Surrounded by the smell of faded paper and a deep, prevalent hush, I began to carefully ease my way between the stacks of books. It got challenging after a while — the passageways were so narrow that my hips and elbows kept bumping into things. But I kept quiet. It didn’t seem appropriate to disturb the silence of this space.
This bookshop will be the reason why I revisit NOLA some day.
Thanks for reading,