Take a look around your home or work area, and how many vacation souvenirs do you see? Just glancing around my desk, I see a moose-head pencil, a bottle of Alaskan gold dust, a wooden box containing a cigar, butterfly wind chimes, a teensy stuffed koala bear holding the Australian flag, a magnet depicting tango dancers with what looks like the Washington Monument in the background, and a cruise-ship picture frame, just to name a few.

The souvenir is such a beloved staple of the travel experience.

There’s the token snow globe, even from destinations that haven’t seen snow since the last Ice Age. There’s the requisite t-shirt, with such messages as “my parents went to [blank] and all I got was this lousy t-shirt,” “I survived the [insert treacherous-but-beautiful road name here],” and the simple “I Heart [destination name].” There are the ornaments and shot glasses, the key chains and paperweights.

Each place has its own must-haves. In Scotland, it’s the tartan garment. In Japan, it’s the folding fan. In Egypt, it’s the fake papyrus. When I was in Italy, I went to the “lace-making island” of Burano, where everyone, it seemed, was selling toilet paper holders. It never occurred to me to have a white frilly lace enclosure for my utilitarian generic-brand toilet paper, but walking from stall to stall, I started thinking I just might really need one. Then, reason prevailed.

In the Peruvian mountain city of Cusco, there was bin after bin of finger puppets, in every shop, on every street corner. And even though there’s no arguing that these were very cute finger puppets--darling actually--how many does a person need?

Need clearly has nothing to do with it, which is the genius of the souvenir. A good souvenir is a keeper because it reminds you of places you’ve been, supports the local economy, and only requires a quick glance to conjure up nostalgia and wanderlust.

What are some of your favorite, or most unusual, souvenirs?