Why We Always Choose Experience Over Souvenirs

We live in a world where you can buy almost anything — except the things that actually matter. Strangely, we travel thousands of miles, collect boarding passes, snap photos, and then line up at the souvenir shop before we even know how the place smells in the morning or sounds at night.

But what do we take home?

A plastic snow globe. A T-shirt. A magnet that never sticks quite right.

It started with one of those.

A tiny dome from Paris, glitter swirling around the Eiffel Tower, picked off a spinning rack while two of my daughters debated whether it was worth their last 10 euros.

And then, 10 minutes later, it broke.

Cracked in someone’s backpack, leaking glittery water onto a library book and one very damp hoodie. There were tears. A little blame. A long sigh. And finally, my oldest said, "Well... at least we saw the real Eiffel Tower."

At least? Really?

Just like that, a family rule was born: We choose moments, not mementos.

"Remember When We..."

What we carry with us are the stories.

"Remember when we watched the thunderstorm roll in from that old castle in Portugal?"

"Or when we made pasta in Rome and you accidentally added salt instead of sugar to the dessert?"

"Or when Dad lost his shoe in the river in Canada while trying to help us build a mini raft?" - I was the funny one, I will tell you later... :)

"Or when we learned to ski in Whistler and I screamed the entire way down the bunny slope — and then begged to go again?"

These memories cost almost nothing. And yet they’re the ones that come up at the dinner table, in the car, or on rainy days when no one can agree on a movie.

Not once have I heard, "Remember that Eiffel Tower keychain we bought?"

Sand, Not Stuff

Last summer, while camping along the Oregon coast, my youngest tried to sneak a jar of sand into her bag.

"For remembering," she said.

"What are you remembering?" I asked.

"When we made that giant sand turtle. And then the tide came and washed it away. And you said it was still real, even if it didn’t last."

I let her keep the jar.

But I also wrote that line down. Because she was right. The turtle didn’t last. But the teamwork, the laughter, the sparkle in her eyes when we stepped back and looked at what we made — that’s forever.

A Game Called "Need It or Like It?"

Traveling with kids means walking past a lot of souvenir stands. So we invented a game: "Need it or like it?"

Whenever someone wants to buy something, we pause.

"Do we need it, or do we just like it?"

Almost always, it’s like-it.

And then we ask the better question: "What could we do with that money instead?"

Rent bikes and ride through Kyoto’s bamboo forest.

Try churros and chocolate at a street café in Madrid.

Get lost in a maze garden in Edinburgh.

Take a local art class in Bali.

That five-euro trinket? It becomes gelato and a surprise parade in Florence.

That hoodie with a kangaroo? Turns into a surfing lesson in Sydney (where yes, I wiped out hard).

When the Souvenir Didn’t Win

In Morocco, one of my daughters fell in love with a hand-painted bowl. Beautiful. Fragile. Not cheap.

"I want this to remember the trip," she said.

We talked. About space in the suitcase. About how it might break. About what she really wanted to remember.

She thought for a while. Then put it back.

That night, we made couscous and mint tea with a local family we met through a cooking class. She danced, helped cook, and played peekaboo with their toddler.

On the plane home, she whispered, "I think I’ll remember that night more than the bowl."

The Whistler Lesson

Then there was Whistler Blackcomb.

None of us had ever skied before. It was cold. The gear was heavy. My second daughter refused to wear the goggles because they "smelled like plastic."

We fell. A lot. I personally took out an entire row of rental skis just trying to walk to the lesson.

But after two days, something shifted. The wobbly became balanced. The nervous laughter became whoops of joy. One of my daughters said, "I thought I’d hate this. But I think I love it." Could be :)

Now, every winter, someone brings up Whistler. Not because we bought a sweatshirt — but because we did something hard together. And we got better.

What We Keep Instead

We keep journals. Filled with stick figure sketches of temples, maps drawn from memory, quotes like "Dad, why is that goat staring at you?" and restaurant receipts with food stains.

We keep running lists of "firsts":

First time riding a camel.

First time trying bubble tea.

First time speaking French to someone who actually responded.

We keep the stories.

We keep each other.

Last Word from the Backseat

After a weekend in the mountains, on the drive home, my youngest said from the backseat:

"I’m glad we didn’t buy anything. We’d just lose it. But this weekend? I won’t lose this."

So yeah, they still get a postcard now and then. Sometimes socks with llamas on them. But mostly?

We invest in the good stuff.

The things that don’t fit in a suitcase.

The kind you take with you everywhere.

Tell us about your memories in the comments :)