Armchair travel: Souvenirs and memories keep travel in our hearts and minds

Although she received a bruised and swollen knee during a hike on a glacier in Iceland, the injury serves as a souvenir of adventures past for writer Pamela Wade. Photo / Supplied

My finger has been tingling a lot lately. My right forefinger, just below the cuticle, is crying out for attention and demanding to be rubbed, constantly. Since parrots are long-lived, that green and red eclectus parrot at Cooberrie Park near Yeppoon in northern Queensland is probably still alive. It's unlikely though to remember causing me this nerve damage 10 years ago, when I stupidly poked my finger through the bars and it bit it, so hard that only my desperately blowing in its face got it to open its beak.

As souvenirs go, it's a lot more effective in reminding me of that morning in the wildlife sanctuary than a mass-produced T-shirt from the gift shop would have been. The same goes for the shoulder I dislocated in 2012 by foolishly leaping from a moving boat to fall onto the towpath in the Norfolk Broads. Every time it clicks, or aches after gardening, it reminds me of gliding smoothly along those silver waterways, between avenues of trees, past pretty cottages and pubs, with swans and ducks darting under our bow.

Cruising the Norfolk Broads led to a dislocated shoulder, and many happy memories, for writer Pamela Wade. Photo / Supplied

Since memories are all we currently have of overseas travel — hopefully also plans, even if right now it feels wildly optimistic to be making those — it's helpful to be able to access them easily and vividly. Physical trauma will do that most intensely, as my injuries (bloody stubbed toe in Alice Springs, bruised and swollen knee on a glacier in Iceland, whacked head falling down steps at the Red Fort in Delhi) certainly attest; but there are less painful paths back to the exotic destinations of pre-Covid days.

Movie locations are a popular route. Of course, in the golden days, people watched the movie and then sought out the scenery, as anyone who lives near a LOTR site knows all too well, and as our beleaguered tourist industry recalls with infinite sadness. But you can also do it the other way around. Tom Cruise serves us well in that respect, in his Mission: Impossible incarnation, flitting around so many of the world's great cities. Now we can look beyond his terrifying stunts to admire those iconic buildings and bridges and, while he's perching on top of the Burj Khalifa, fondly remember having dinner at a restaurant in its shadow.

While we can't visit in person right now, the Glenfinnan Viaduct in Scotland can be seen on screen in Harry Potter movies. Photo / Pamela Wade

Harry Potter summons up Oxford and the Glenfinnan Viaduct in Scotland; Mamma Mia! conjures Greece; Argo enables revisiting the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul; Men in Black shows off Grand Central Station. There are familiar scenes everywhere, and though constantly crying out "Been there!" doesn't usually go down well, it certainly adds to the pleasure of watching screens both large and small.

Even the very smallest screen is full of memories: our phones are crammed with unedited photos, the best of them smugly archived in our Instagram feeds; plus Facebook pops up with regular reminders of places visited, people met, things done. Past pleasures in exotic locations are just a finger-flick away.

And then there are the actual, physical souvenirs, which come in two types: the clunky cliches, and the clever reminders. That skiting Galapagos cap is gathering dust at the back of my wardrobe; the Eiffel Tower keyring turned out to be too bulky for daily use; I can't be bothered whipping egg whites to turn that liquor from Peru into a Pisco sour. These are stupid souvenirs that I should not have succumbed to, no matter how persuasive the smiling stall-holder.

Pamela Wade gets up close with Galapagos wildlife. Photo / Supplied

What I do value though, and congratulate myself that I did buy back in the glory days, are things I actually use in my everyday life, and which thus remind me all the time of my foreign travels. My shower curtain was bought in Chicago, my duvet cover in London, my house numbers in Paris, my letter opener in Bangkok. I'm still eking out the vanilla pods I bought years ago in Mauritius; and I'm right now leaning against a cushion I got in Johannesburg.

Nobody else seeing these things would identify them as souvenirs, and that's just fine. The name says it all: souvenir means "to remember", not "to boast". These items aren't statements, they're part of my daily life, just as the travel that discovered them is part of my personal history — if possibly not, alas, of my near future.

That watch I got in Thailand, though, is going to have to go. It looks exotic, with its curly gold numbers, and it still reminds me of visiting Korat in the north where I bought it one warm night at the market — but that's three batteries it's had now, and it just keeps on stopping. As a souvenir, it does the job, but as an actual watch, it's purely a waste of time. Shame. That was a whole $3, squandered.

Pamela Wade visited most of these places while working (sigh) as a travel writer.