There’s something about luxury travel that makes otherwise rational people, people who would normally think twice about paying for an extra checked bag, suddenly behave like aristocrats in a pre-revolution Versailles spending spree. One minute, you’re admiring an elegant, handcrafted thing (because at this stage, you don’t even know what it is, just that it’s expensive), and the next, you’re handing over your credit card and nodding along as a perfectly groomed sales assistant assures you that shipping a 200kg limestone Buddha to Australia is absolutely no trouble at all.
Souvenirs You Definitely Didn’t Need but Bought Anyway (And Now Have to Carry for the Rest of Your Trip)
It starts innocently enough. You’re in Paris, floating from one arrondissement to another, casually popping into a boutique filled with rare perfumes. You already own a fragrance that works for you, it’s sophisticated, subtle, and doesn’t make people think you’ve been aggressively hugged by a jasmine bush. But no. Today, you need something exclusive. Something that only five other people in the world own. Something distilled from moonlight and blessed by a monk who doesn’t believe in capitalism. Naturally, you buy it. Naturally, it costs the same as a return ticket to Bora Bora. Naturally, it leaks in your suitcase.
Shopping in Italy
Then there’s Italy, where you make the classic mistake of having one Negroni before going shopping. Now, a leather artisan in Florence has convinced you that a custom-fitted, hand-stitched, possibly enchanted leather trench coat is exactly what your Sydney wardrobe has been missing. Never mind that it’s 38 degrees at home, and you spend most of your life in linen. You’re absolutely certain you’ll become one of those effortlessly stylish people who waft through European cities, turning heads and looking like they were personally styled by an off-duty Gucci designer. Two weeks later, as you attempt to stuff this cow-sized garment into your suitcase, you begin to realise your mistake.
Santorini artefacts
Then, of course, there’s the dreaded impulse art purchase. In Santorini, you wander into a gallery (just for a look, obviously), and twenty minutes later, you are the proud, slightly nauseous owner of an abstract painting the size of a small car. It’s vibrant. It’s bold. It’s going to look amazing above your imaginary fireplace. There’s just one small hitch: how, exactly, are you getting it home? You briefly consider carrying it onto the plane, before realising that wedging a metre-wide canvas into an overhead bin might cause an international incident. The gallery owner suggests shipping it, which, you soon discover, costs more than actual flights to Greece.
The Great Moroccan Tagine Disaster of 2018
And then there’s the ceramics incident. You swore you wouldn’t do this again, not after the Great Moroccan Tagine Disaster of 2018 but here you are, in Portugal, buying a hand-painted vase that is both exquisite and entirely impractical. You cradle it lovingly on the flight home, much to the distress of the airline staff, who seem convinced it will explode on impact. You survive the journey, only for it to shatter the moment you set it down in your living room. At this point, you momentarily consider moving to Lisbon just to live out your ceramic-owning dreams in peace.
By the time you land back in Australia, your luggage is 12 kilos heavier, your bank account is suffering from heatstroke, and you’re already wondering where, exactly, in your two-bedroom apartment you’re going to display a six-foot antique Balinese door that felt like an excellent idea at the time. But do you regret it? Not for a second. Because luxury travel isn’t just about seeing new places, it’s about collecting absurd, extravagant, wildly unnecessary objects that make absolutely no sense in your actual life. And that, my friend, is the true art of souvenir shopping.
