My Favorite Travel Souvenir Costs Nothing But a Little Dignity

A small price to pay for such beautiful memories

One of my first trips outside of North America was to Portugal with a friend. Over the course of a week, he bought half a suitcase worth of colorfully painted roosters, ornamental plates, magnets, and other sentimental items. I started to question if he really needed that many, which he rebuffed. That was 20 years ago, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of those objects in his home.

I returned home with one small bowl that’s still on display in my living room. I’m a souvenir minimalist. I only buy things I will realistically use or display.

When I’m traveling, I see many items that look gorgeous in their native habitat. Richly colored tapestries, carved wooden bowls, ornamental glassware, and patterned leather goods. I love oohing and ahhing over them, imagining bringing them home.

But most of the time, I instinctively know that they’re not going to work in my life. My small, modern condo isn’t suited to an ornate silver piece or carved mask. So however tempted I am in the moment, I reluctantly leave them where they belong.

I saw these gorgeous blankets and pillow covers for sale in a market in the Andes mountains in Peru. I’m a color lover and this picture never fails to give me a dopamine hit. But even as I sat there drinking in their beauty, I knew they’d look out of place with my décor. So I settled for a small makeup pouch in shades of pink and green that saw a lot of wear over the years.

I am discerning, but there’s something I bring home from every place I’ve ever been, whether it’s two hours or two days away. It’s an item that’s indelibly representative of the place it’s found. The one thing that, no matter the culture or the preferences or the aesthetic of a country, I know will work beautifully in my life.

Rocks.

Bringing home a rock or shell from every destination I’ve been fortunate enough to experience has been a tradition since my teens. I first stooped to pick up a smooth stone on the grounds of one of the beautiful heritage homes in the romantic Lake District of England, pretending I was Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice. Since then I’ve scouted rocks from dozens if not hundreds of cities, towns, and beaches around the world.

I look for beautiful or unusual specimens with an interesting color, shape, or pattern. Most of the time I’m spoiled for choice and gather a few options during my trip. On my final day, I’ll examine them, choose the most interesting, and leave the others behind.

Then there are other times when the pickings are slim and you just have to go with whatever you find.

My Queendom for a rock

One of the more challenging situations was when I went on a cruise. Like most cruises, I only had 6–8 hours in a specific port, which doesn’t leave you with a lot of time for rock collecting.

My friend declined to leave the ship the entire week because she was only interested in baking herself like a rotisserie chicken. She spent each day coated in oil, rotating her beach chair in the sun, reading a book about the Titanic (pro tip: not recommended as a cruise read).

That left me to get off at each of the ports myself. This was before I became a solo traveler and the idea of wandering around Caribbean islands on my own felt intimidating.

Luckily we made some friends at dinner one night, a 40-something couple. They didn’t mind me tagging along with them, so when we got to Curaçao, we checked out the port together.

I felt a little silly confessing my love of rocks, so as we walked from shop to shop I was surreptitiously checking the ground for bounty. It was a meticulously kept area, so it was tough going. Finally, I spotted a large pebble and decided to go for it, not wanting to risk coming up empty. I faked like my ankle was itchy so I could pick it up.

“Maybe you should put some Cortizone cream on that,” the husband suggested helpfully as I gripped my contraband in my hand so they wouldn’t see it.

I didn’t buy anything in the touristy shops we visited. I didn’t even buy Blue Curaçao, but I still have that pebble.

When we docked in St. Lucia, I signed up for the rainforest hike. Before we got going the guide told us the ecosystem was fragile and we shouldn’t mess with it. She sternly admonished us to “take only pictures and leave only footprints.” I nodded gravely like the rest of the group while fully intending to break this rule.

We followed a well-worn dirt path so we wouldn’t harm any local vegetation. It was beautiful, and we actually spotted a boa constrictor all curled up, enjoying the sunshine.

Unfortunately for me, there were few rocks on the path. We were almost finished when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a large blob on the ground.

“Shoot!” I said and faked like my running shoe was undone, grabbing the rock while I pretended to fiddle with my laces. I shoved it into my pocket and didn’t even see it until I was back in my cabin on the ship.

It was all gray but at least it had an interesting cut-out pattern. Like the rock from Curaçao, it wasn’t going to add a lot of visual interest to my collection, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Another place that was unexpectedly challenging for a rock collector was Paris. My expectations for Paris were high and still, the city managed to exceed them. It is indeed worthy of all the hype.

Except, of course, if you’re a rock connoisseur. Despite having many cobblestone streets, there are precious few rocks in Paris. I was there for a week and each day, I looked for a stone to bring home. No luck.

On my final day, I found a shaving of cement from somewhere and took that instead. Better than nothing.

For the love of rocks

I used to buy magnets on trips but eventually, my fridge got too cluttered. I switched to silver rings, but since I work from home, I don’t wear them that much anymore. Printed t-shirts were never my thing. But rocks, they just work.

My collection has pride of place on my dining table where people often ask about it. They not only work with my décor, they are my décor.

They’re from all over the world, yet they blend together seamlessly. Each one tells a tale of a very specific place and time, but they also tell the story of my life.

Sadly I can no longer identify which rock or shell comes from where. I’ve been collecting so long that those memories have faded away. Still, I treasure them as a reflection of a moment in time when I was somewhere far away, yet thinking about home.

Thank you for reading my story! It was in response to Globetrotters’ October monthly challenge on souvenirs. Such a cool topic, and I’m enjoying reading others’ experiences.

First a shout-out to Michele Maize, my favorite travel writer, who told the story of the ghosts from York and how they confounded customs agents.

I also related to Erie Astin’s enjoyment of her magnet collection because I used to have one before it overtook my fridge!