One day, I would love to look around my home and see a small reminder of every country in the world. A shelf filled with objects collected over years of travelling, each connected to a place, a person, or a particular moment.
Visiting every country is a dream of mine. Bringing home a souvenir from each one would give that journey a physical presence: something I could pick up years later and remember exactly where it came from.
What would you bring home?
Some countries immediately bring certain objects to mind. A small ceramic house from the Netherlands. A hand-painted tile from Portugal. A tea bowl from Japan. A colourful woven textile from Guatemala.
Elsewhere, choosing might take more time—and that can be part of the pleasure.
From Lebanon, it could be a small piece of cedarwood craftsmanship, bought during a walk through a mountain village. From Uzbekistan, a ceramic bowl with intricate blue patterns. From Oman, frankincense, whose scent could bring back a market visit long after the journey has ended.
A souvenir from China might be a little tea set, but it could just as easily be a paper ticket or an inexpensive object found in a neighbourhood shop. From Iraq, perhaps a miniature of the ancient winged bulls, a piece of calligraphy, or a book bought on Baghdad’s Al-Mutanabbi Street.
The choice would depend on what happened during the trip. Sometimes the object you had never considered becomes the one you most want to take home.
The ordinary things often hold the best memories
There is room in such a collection for the obvious souvenirs, too. A miniature Eiffel Tower might remind you of your first visit to Paris. A fridge magnet can preserve the memory of a wonderful weekend. You do not have to find something rare every time you cross a border.
But I am especially drawn to everyday objects.
A coffee cup like the ones used in the cafés where you spent your mornings. A small bowl from a market where you stopped to escape the rain. A postcard bought while waiting for a bus. Even a coin left in your pocket can become a reminder of a place you might not return to for years.
These things gain meaning through use and circumstance. A cup might cost very little, yet bring back the voice of the shopkeeper who wrapped it in yesterday’s newspaper.
A collection that reflects the journey
I would not want every souvenir to look the same. Some could be beautiful enough to display prominently; others might belong in a small box of tickets, banknotes, and handwritten notes.
Together, they would reflect how different travel experiences can be.
One country might be represented by something carefully chosen after several visits. Another by a tiny object bought during a brief stay. Some souvenirs would recall extraordinary landscapes or famous monuments. Others would bring back a meal, a friendship, or an unexpectedly good day.
I like the idea of keeping a little note with each one: where I bought it, when, and why I chose it. Memories can lose their detail. Writing down the name of a town or a few words about an encounter could make all the difference twenty years later.
Choosing something worth bringing home
Whenever possible, I would choose something made locally and buy it directly from its maker. Watching someone paint a bowl or weave a piece of cloth adds a connection that stays with the object.
It also means being thoughtful about what belongs in a suitcase. Historic artefacts, protected wildlife products, and pieces taken from natural or archaeological sites should stay where they belong. There are plenty of ways to bring home a memory through the work of people living there today.
And sometimes, I might leave without buying anything. Finding the right souvenir should be a pleasure, rather than another task to complete before departure.
The world on a shelf
Imagine a ceramic bowl from Uzbekistan beside a wooden carving from Kenya. A Portuguese tile next to a Japanese tea cup. A small Lebanese cedar beside a woven basket from Rwanda.
I would enjoy the unlikely combinations. Looking at them, I could trace journeys across continents and remember different stages of my life: the places I travelled alone, the friends who joined me, the countries that surprised me, and those I kept returning to.
Over time, that shelf would become something deeply personal. Anyone else might see a collection of objects. I would remember the afternoon I found each one—and everything that happened around it.
If you could bring home just one souvenir from every country, what would you choose?