I used to be that person that never cared for cliche souvenirs. I was always a firm believer that a person's memories and pictures were enough to remind them of a place. My trip to Italy has since radically changed this belief in me. Since coming to Italy, I've found many souvenirs not only for myself, but for my friends and family as well.
So what is a souvenir? A souvenir is any object that hold a personal significance to a person. It's a bit like that old saying, "one man's trash is another man's treasure." I think a lot of people hear the word 'souvenir' and automatically begin to think about tacky, white 'I heart NY' t-shirts or Mexican-themed shot glasses. A souvenir is way more than that, though; it's something that hits you. For me, it was a teapot.
Of course, a majority of people might read 'teapot' and correctly assume that the words 'teapot' and 'Italy' don't normally go hand-in-hand together. Instead, one might assume a person would connect with an authentic Italian espresso cup or custom wine cork; no. My souvenir is a simple, white, ceramic teapot. Despite it's simplicity, though, this teapot has come to hold a very important role throughout my time here in Italy.
I found my souvenir not long after we first arrived. Anyone who knows me knows I am a very big lover of tea, so naturally I had to find some upon my arrival in Italy. I came across this teapot in a small, Italian version of a yard sale. There was this tall, middle-aged Italian lady who had a small booth filled with all kinds of items: ceramic and glass dishes, teacups and teapots, even little terracotta roof tiles with small flowers painted on them. The little white, chipped teapot was the last of the group of misfit tea sets, with the only other teapots giant and covered in golden leaves. They were beautiful, but also expensive. It was still our first or second week in Siena, so I didn't speak much Italian, but I new enough to point to the pot and vaguely gesture in a "how much" way.
"Due euro," said the lady. It must have been because of the various chipped spots and cracks found on the ceramic pot, but I didn't argue and promptly shoved a gold two-euro coin into her hand. The lady grinned, and then I grinned, and then she quickly wrapped the teapot in newspaper before setting it into a little bag and handing it to me. By the time I had managed to mutter "grazie," she had already begun chatting to an older Italian man to my right. One trip to the store for tea later, I sat in my apartment and immediately unwrapped the teapot. I've never been the owner of a teapot before, so I was beyond excited to have one to myself—even if it is chipped and cracked and, to some, plain.
I've used that teapot almost every day since arriving and buying it. Sure, it's not a fancy, custom-made wooden wine cork or a cliche mini keychain of the Torre del Mangia, but it's my personal souvenir. I think that these other little knickknacks are great, but everyone has different methods of remembering their travels. Mine, I've discovered, is collecting teapots, and I couldn't be more excited to see what I discover next.