Baubles, bangles, bright shiny beads

As I head into the last third of my time in Berlin (oh, how it's flown, and oh how far behind this blog got), thought I'd post on a rather niche topic, but one that people have asked about in various ways this summer and last. I don't really know that it's "useful" per se, but since this blog is more "a window into the dusty 1920s circus ride that is Pat's brain" than it is "a monetized travel blog," it might be as close as we get. After the jump: how do you manage souvenirs when you're on the road for months at a time?

I didn't get these novelty bottle stoppers, just so you have a sense of the kind of DIFFICULT DECISIONS that my method leads to.

I should start by saying that I'm not a huge souvenir person per se. When I was a kid I used to collect commemorative spoons from different states on family road trips, proof of the effectiveness of truck-stop-store logic: "If we put out a random object that looks collectible, somebody will buy them." But while I've often kept ticket stubs or other ephemera from my travels as an adult, I've never really been the "has a model Eiffel Tower on his desk" guy. Particularly in a post-Marie-Kondo world, tchotchkes and keepsakes haven't been my jam. So, that's the qualifier: this works for me, but that's just me.

That said, the same impulse that leads people to photograph compulsively or buy a t-shirt saying "I ATE THE GRANDE PLATTER OF BBQ CHICKEN WINGS AT THE ARC DE TRIOMPHE" is pretty universal, an in-the-moment urge to grab something tangible as a talisman to bring you back to that day, that moment, that place. And I'm only human, so I do go after keepsakes in a fashion, while reminding myself that travel is the mode in which you're likeliest to hemorrhage money on stuff you don't need.

TO BE FAIR though you do need these ducks. ALL OF THEM though, don't be penny wise and pound foolish here.

For me, there are a few layers to keep myself disciplined about this. First and foremost, I try to limit my souvenirs to the useful - not just the useful, but the things I actually, actively have been looking for in my life back home. I keep a list of things (that doubles as a wish list come the holidays) to keep me honest on this count, so I don't start telling myself that what I really need is a giant ceramic turtle from Barcelona. So that's thing one: usefulness of the item.

If I got rid of most of my coffee mugs in the past couple of years, then a coffee mug or espresso cups might make the cut. Clothing applies here too as I rebuild my wardrobe with an eye toward a professional look. Decor is a fine line - this is where clutter can creep in, via hand-waving "I'll find a place for it" justifications. So in that sense I try to be very specific: I know I'm setting up this room to look this way and this is how this gigantic ceramic turtle will fit into that. (Pinterest boards are helpful to mentally map this stuff, as both of my trips have come during gaps in my housing back home.)

In this sense, the best kind of keepsakes are the ones that become useful on the road as well as home. In the spring, in London, I found myself without an umbrella; when a rainy stretch hit, rather than grab a £10 plastic one at a Tesco, I hoofed it to one of the oldest umbrella-makers in town, where they had a range from bespoke umbrellas carved from a single stick down to collapsible commuter umbrellas, and for just a bit more than I'd have paid at a Target I came home with a remarkably lovely full-length umbrella. You can plan ahead for this a bit; I didn't have a dopp kit/toiletry bag, having shed my old one over the last move, so rather than buy one back home before leaving, I picked up a great canvas-and-leather number at a flea market in Vienna.

I cannot think of a more solid business model than "selling poncey umbrellas in London at any time of year."

As a categorical rule, I try to only pick up things that were made in the place that I'm traveling. Again, while I don't judge anybody for buying what they can afford, I know I'm privileged enough that I have no business personally buying clothes made in third-world, likely slave-labor conditions, and the same is truer for anything I'm getting as a keepsake. It's also a quality choice - a lot of places have local traditional strengths, so in keeping purchases local I'm typically finding a better price on a high-quality item, whether it's ceramics or leather in Tuscany or shirting in Vienna or shoes in England. These things are useful in their own right, but they also tell a story - which is my favorite kind of keepsake, one that has a story but doesn't advertise it.

As for where I pick things up, I aggressively avoid the heart of tourist zones; with the exception of exhibition catalogues or art prints, buying keepsakes near Museuminsel in Berlin or the Tour Eiffel is going to make it a needle-in-a-haystack job to pick up something that meets my criteria, and in many cases that money will go to some mass-chain corporation or another. It becomes key to find the neighborhoods with independent shops, of which there are many in every major city over here, with well-curated goods that are locally made. I used to target thrift stores a lot, but by now I mostly reserve that for the UK's incredible charity shops, as most other European markets are slim pickings for menswear, and hit-or-miss on home goods. Far better on the latter count, though still pretty dodgy for clothes, are thrift markets. In most European cities, on a Saturday or Sunday morning you can find those perfect items that will serve you well (a tin for looseleaf tea, say) for chump change because it's not especially remarkable for where you are.

SOME flea markets are PERHAPS more geared towards tourists than locals, but if you know where to go and when to go there you can still find the odds-and-sods sort of finds that make it a fun ol' venture.

The next concern is portability, obviously. I take these trips with a single Osprey Farpoint backpack, carry-on sized, usually with a smaller day bag (man-purse or backpack) that starts the trip packed in the larger bag. That keeps me mobile, able to hop Ryanair flights for cheap, helps to not feel clumsy when navigating cobblestoned walking cities, and (crucially) acts as a counterweight to impulse purchases. This tends to skew purchases again - lighter clothing items tend to be negligible, and you can pack in and around some items pretty effectively. Again, a light tin for tea becomes kind of ideal in a case like this, as would a giant ceramic turtle that was hollow enough to fit, I don't know, socks into?

Finally, timing within the trip also matters. In the first few months of the trip, I've got to be incredibly rigorous about avoiding most things, because anything I grab has to move with me for the rest of my travels. Heavy stuff is hard to carry, and light stuff risks breaking (or in the case of artist prints, getting torn or bent in transit). Shipping back to the states can run about $40 at a minimum, so unless I'm already sending something back, this is mostly to be avoided. As I head into the last month or so, the math alters a bit: I may have a better sense of the place I'm moving back into, I know I'm not lugging purchases on my back for thousands of miles, I know more precisely how well I've come in under budget. I learned my lesson years ago when buying LPs at the start of a multi-city European trip not to pick up things that will worry me in my luggage; fragile items make a bit more sense when I'm only thinking about how to carry them onto a flight back home.

Ultimately, travel is about experience; there's no photograph or object that I own that feels as deeply emotional as my memories of walking along the banks of the Seine at night, seeing kids playing soccer in a piazza in Rome, or befriending strangers at a bar in Budapest. But as I found this last year, it is nice to think about London whenever you're heading out into the rain in Boston. And it is nice to know that the cup of coffee you hand to your friend took a trip from Florence to get there. So, yeah, I'm a sucker for stories and I'm not as austere as Marie Kondo wants me to be. But I rather like this approach; it works for me, keeps me pretty restrained in my purchasing, and leaves me with functional keepsakes that all matter a lot more than they would if I picked them up because they happened to be for sale near a pretty thing I saw. I like that plenty, you knobs.

CUPS AND BLURRY PALS: THE STORY OF A LIFE ABROAD WITH AN ANNOYING PHOTOGRAPHER

More on Berlin to come in the next week or so as I head into the home stretch here. It's been at times logistically infuriating and frustrating, but the city itself, and what there is to find in it, remains a marvel. All that: soon!