Travel Treasures: The Art of Collecting Travel Stories

Traveling is an invitation to collect not only memories but also the essence of the places you visit. While photographs and souvenirs are the usual keepsakes, the true treasures are the items that carry deep meaning and tell a story of the culture, the people, and your own personal journey. Over the years, I’ve developed a tradition of collecting travel trinkets that are far more than objects. They are living stories, woven through my experiences, travels, and the places I’ve been. These trinkets often blur the lines between tangible items and intangible memories, allowing me to relive the essence of a place long after I’ve left.

Art: The Beginning of My Travel Trinket Tradition in Japan

My trinket tradition began in Japan during my junior year of undergraduate studies. I had the privilege of studying Buddhism and Spiritual Traditions abroad, nestled among tranquil mountaintop temples and the storied streets of Kyoto. Japan—its deep culture, spiritual practices, and artistry—captured my heart in ways that are difficult to express. As a budding traveler, I began seeking out local art as a way to both understand and connect with the culture in a deeper, more personal way.

It was during this time that I discovered a deep love for traditional pottery. I was captivated by the way the earth itself seemed to shape these pieces—every curve, every glaze, telling the story of centuries-old craftsmanship. I found myself returning to potters’ studios, watching them work with their hands, molding the clay as if channeling something ancient and sacred. The tactile connection between the artist and the earth spoke to me in profound ways. Each piece was like holding a moment in time—a piece of Japan's soul, shaped by the hands of those who had passed down the craft for generations.

Beyond pottery, I also sought out local textiles, which added another layer of sensory experience to my travels. Wrapping myself in the soft embrace of a traditional yukata robe after a shower always brings me back to the steamy natural onsen in a far-off village, where I bought the robe from a ryokan overlooking the Yamagami River. The sensation of the fabric brushing against my skin carries with it the physical memory of Japan—a warmth that transcends time. These textiles didn’t just keep me warm—they wrapped me in the comfort of memories of serene temples, vibrant streets, and quiet moments of contemplation by the river.

Of course, I couldn’t resist the allure of paintings, often from local artists, depicting traditional landscapes, serene depictions of temples, or the fleeting beauty of cherry blossoms in full bloom. Each painting was a way to preserve an experience—the fleeting moment of watching petals fall, the quiet peace of sitting with monks in meditation, or the first time I watched a delicate tea ceremony unfold. Art in Japan became my anchor, a way of bringing the intangible beauty of the culture into my home.

Postcards: A Tradition Born in Alaska

After Japan, the next great travel adventure where I added a new travel trinket was Alaska. Unlike the stillness of the temples in Japan, Alaska was a wild and untamed frontier, where glaciers met the sea and towering mountains loomed over every port. It was here, during my first experience on an ultra-luxury cruise, that I began the tradition of sending postcards—a way to keep my family close, even as I ventured into the farthest corners of the earth.

In Alaska, I made it a point to send a postcard from every stop on the cruise, but I didn’t settle for the mass-produced, generic postcards sold at every gift shop. Instead, I sought out postcards crafted by local artists—pieces that captured the spirit of the land. These postcards were far more than just images; they were small works of art that spoke to the uniqueness of each port.

As I stood before glaciers, overlooked wild, untouched landscapes, and small towns, I would carefully select a postcard that encapsulated not just the scenery but the emotion I was feeling in that moment. I would then write personal notes to family members, describing the sights, sounds, and smells of each port, weaving the narrative of my journey. The act of writing these postcards allowed me to reflect on the trip while sharing it with loved ones. The breathtaking beauty of Alaska’s fjords and snow-capped peaks came alive through these words, and each postcard became a memento of adventure. The tradition continued on other trips, creating a deep sense of connection with the places I explored and the people I cared about back home.

Recipes: A Culinary Journey Across the Globe

While art and postcards became cherished ways to capture the essence of a place, it was food and cooking that really allowed me to carry the soul of a place with me. Cooking has always been an act of love for me, something I learned at my mother’s side from a young age. But as I began to travel, I realized there is no better way to connect with a culture than by learning to cook its traditional dishes.

During my travels, I always sought out unique restaurants that used local ingredients and honored traditional or innovative cooking techniques. I also signed up for cooking classes with local chefs, where I could learn not just the recipes but the stories behind the dishes—the history, the cultural significance, and the personal touch of the chefs themselves. These experiences became more than just about food—they were windows into the heart of a culture.

In Iceland, where my husband and I eloped on New Year's Eve, we enjoyed all sorts of local cuisine, especially Kjötsúpa, a traditional Icelandic lamb soup that is a cornerstone of the country’s culinary heritage. The warmth of the broth, the tender chunks of lamb, and the richness of the assorted root vegetables come together in a way that invited us to seek refuge from the fierce winds of Iceland. Whenever I make this dish at home, I’m transported back to the rugged beauty of Iceland’s landscapes—the crisp air, the vast expanses of lava fields, the misty waterfalls.

Another favorite recipe I learned was fresh fish broil, a simple yet powerful dish made with locally caught fish and a touch of Icelandic sea salt. The smell of the fish grilling over an open flame, the salty ocean air, and the taste of the freshest fish with local veg sides made it a meal I craved again and again. The connection to the vast ocean that surrounds Iceland became alive in every bite.

In Japan, the love for food was just as strong. I became enchanted with the delicate art of making Onigiri, the rice balls that are such a comforting snack in Japan, which has become a go-to for easy lunches on the go. Wrapped in seaweed and filled with pickled plums, salmon, or other treasures, each bite was a reminder of my time spent sitting in quiet parks, sharing meals with friends, and reflecting on the simplicity of the life I was discovering there.

Then there’s Oyakodon, a Japanese chicken and egg rice bowl, which technically translates to 'mother and child'—a reference to the inclusion of both chicken and egg. A bit morbid, I’ll admit, but oh-so-comforting and delicious. The silky texture of the egg, the sweetness of the chicken, and the warm broth served over fluffy rice creates a perfect, comforting harmony. Whenever I prepare this dish, it reminds me of the slow, contemplative pace of Japan, the gentle balance of flavors, and the joy of sharing meals with those around me.

Vinyl Records: A Sonic Journey Through Iceland

Perhaps the most unexpected of all my travel trinkets is my love for vinyl records, which began on a trip to Iceland. When I stepped into Lucky Records in Reykjavik, I entered a wonderland of music, filled with shelves of vinyl records from every genre imaginable. The eclectic mix of Icelandic folk records, rare international gems, and unique Icelandic pressings of global favorites captivated me. I could easily lose track of time, headphones on, carefully flipping through the endless rows of vinyl, each record a potential treasure.

For me, vinyl records are not just about the music—they’re about the experience. The crackle of the needle hitting the record, the warmth of the sound that fills the room, the feeling of anticipation as the first notes echo through the speakers—it’s an experience that transports me right back to the shops I visited, the places I traveled, and the emotions I felt. It’s more than just a song—it’s a snapshot of a moment, a memory captured in sound.

Final Thoughts: A Collection of Stories, Not Just Objects

For me, travel trinkets aren’t just about collecting things—they are about collecting stories. The art I brought back from Japan speaks of its ancient craftsmanship. The postcards my family cherishes from Alaska carry memories of glaciers, wildlife, and flying a floatplane over glaciers. The recipes I’ve learned along the way have given me a way to taste the world again, long after I’ve returned home. And the vinyl records, each spin a way to relive the sounds of the places I’ve been.

As I sit in my kitchen, cozy in a yukata and house slippers from Japan, absorbing the vibrant colors of autumn in Vermont, I stir a pot of traditional lamb stew, fragrant with the flavors of Iceland’s Kjötsúpa and vegetables from my garden. The soft crackle of a vintage vinyl that I picked up on one of my travels plays in the background, its warmth mingling with the aroma of the stew. I look out across the rolling hills, a tapestry of reds, yellows, and oranges stretching into the distance, the serenity of it all wrapping around me. The gentle hum of the record fills the room, bringing together all of the sensory experiences of my travels: the taste of new dishes, the beauty of the art I’ve collected, and the rich sounds of the world’s diverse music.

Each of these treasures—whether they are vinyl records, storied postcards, recipes, or a beautiful piece of art—reminds me not of the places I’ve been, but of the threads that connect us all. They are more than just objects; they are the living, breathing stories of the world that continue to expand as I explore, create, and savor the beauty of life and travel.