It’s an understatement to say I like books. I love them - adore them! Passionately. So when I travel, I make it a point to buy a book in the country I’m at. I buy completely random books, known or unknown, new or second-hand, and from whatever genre. For example, I bought sci-fi (my first and only sci-fi book) and classics in New York, a cheesy chick-lit in Krakow, a children’s book in Frankfurt (yup! totally random), and a book of ballads in Paris. And it’s my experience buying that book in Paris that I will be blogging about today.
I had just been to Notre Dame Cathedral, climbed to the top to enjoy the view of Paris with Quasimodo’s sidekicks, and soaked in the history through a guided tour. I strolled around a bit when I stumbled upon a roadside bookstand selling old books. I couldn’t resist. After half-dragging my sister to the stand, I went through those beautiful books.
Ah! Paradise.
I knew exactly what I wanted but after a search I couldn’t find it. There was only one thing left to do: ask for assistance. I approached the smiling salesman and with a friendly “Bonjour!” I asked him the only French sentence I knew: “Parlez vous anglais?” - I was asking him if he spoke English. I know. I know. I’m pathetic. But I’m pretty sure I got the accent down. I listened to the proper pronunciation and practiced online folks. I sound like a local. Ooo-k. Before you start thinking I’m delusional let’s continue with the story. As many of you might have guessed, the man said “No”...then he continued to speak in rapid French. I understood only the no part and smiled through everything else. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what he said. I assumed he was asking me what I was looking for, so with confidence I said “Victor Hugo”. Then he said something in French again and looked up at me questioningly, waiting for my answer. I then assumed correctly for the second time that he was asking for which particular work of Victor Hugo, so I replied “Paris du Notre Dame”, careful to say ‘Pari’ - that’s how the French say it after all. He exclaimed something in dismay and handed me Hugo’s book of poetry instead. I think that by this time I got the man convinced I understood French, even if I didn’t speak it. Then pushing my luck, I asked for a book by Jules Verne. By ‘asking’ I mean that I raised my eyebrows inquiringly while saying “Jules Verne” as French-ly as I could. The man exclaimed “Oui! Oui!” and handed me a slab-sized leather-bound book. I took it with a majestic “Oh là là!” The little Frenchman was delighted and repeated my “Oh là là” several times. That book cost a staggering €200! Oh là là indeed! I handed the book back and paid for my book of ballads. We said our thank yous and goodbyes, and our roads parted.
I’ll probably never see that man again, but what I find so wonderful is that our roads did cross and that for a brief moment in time two strangers who didn’t even speak the same language connected, and a memory was made that summer afternoon that I will remember and cherish. That’s the beauty of traveling...discovering that in a world of differences and strangers, you can find something that you can both smile and laugh about. 
Merci Beaucoup dear reader!
