If you’re new here, or maybe you haven’t seen any of my other posts, you know that I love books. And I’m married to a person who loves books equally as much as I do.

As a matter of fact, I would consider us book collectors. Over the years together, we’ve amassed a large collection of books that sit snuggly on the shelves of our Billy Bookcases back home.

One of the things we quickly learned about Bangalore (click here if you missed the memo) was that our hotel was located within walking distance of a few bookstores. So, last Saturday, we did what we do best: spent hours and hours perusing the dusty shelves of local bookstores.

The first store we stopped in was a place called Blossom’s. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a book store like this one. Three stories of wall to wall, floor to ceiling books, with books stacked all over the floor as well. There were markers that held names of genres, but they seemed more of a suggestion rather than something that you took to heart. Shopping here felt like a the sweetest type of treasure hunt.

Next up was a bookstore a few minutes walk from the first called Bookworm. Not as packed as the first, Bookworm had a larger selection of new releases, that were all conveiencntly priced at a 20% discount. By the looks of the front of the store, it wasn’t as packed as the second, but as I made my way further into the store, we realized this had been a mirage. The back of the store and it’s second story was equally as packed as the first. Dusty books tightly packed on shelves, this way and that.

The final bookstore was a tidier place called Higginbothams, claiming to be the oldest bookstore in Bangalore. This bookstore had the largest selection of newer books and was the neatest, lacking the charm of the piles and piles of books.

Bookstores are my favorite. There is something magical in a place that houses books, a portal to worlds abound.

Did we buy anything? Of course we did. We can’t not buy anything when going to a bookstore.