Looking a Gift Shop in the Mouth : The most useful and memorable souvenirs are not often found amidst the tourist-track kitsch.

The tourist stuffed his hands into his Windbreaker pockets and scowled at a shop window in tiny La Conner, Wash.

“I’ve figured out why they call them ‘gift shops,’ ” he said with a sigh. “They sell things you wouldn’t remotely consider buying for yourself.”

That could be true--unless you collect beribboned jars of peach potpourri, kitchen plaques with homey sayings, ceramic masks, gingham picture frames, refrigerator magnets shaped like chocolates, amber night lights shaped like starfish, or pillows shaped like ducks.

Gift-shop merchandise is often generic. Cocktail napkins sold in La Conner can also be found in Dubuque--although that didn’t stop me from buying some that said: “I don’t repeat gossip, so listen carefully,” and “Left-handed coffee mugs purchased in Abilene can crop up in Tampa Bay.”

T-shirts, of course, are ubiquitous, and, most of the time, made elsewhere. No wonder buying memorable souvenirs is tricky.

Before her first trip to England, a friend of mine passed up a raincoat sale in California. She secretly had her heart set on buying a London Fog trenchcoat in London. It was a clerk at Simpson on Piccadilly who broke the news to her: London Fog is an American label.

Travelers intent on buying gifts that reflect a destination may have better luck beyond stands marked “Souvenirs.” And you don’t have to spend a bundle.

Kids like college pennants and team pennants for their walls. You can find them at campus stores and stadiums, but also in airport shops for easy, last-minute purchase. They’re cheaper than sweat shirts or caps, and it can take years to outgrow them.

When traveling in Scotland, Norway or any other place known for its knitting or weaving, I like to support the local cottage industry by tucking extra mufflers and ties into my suitcase.

When the gift is useful--and size is not a troublesome factor--shopping seems more fun.

In Bangkok, I am ever amazed by the hundreds of small, flat, weigh-nothing gifts made of neon-bright Thai silk. Sure you can find some of them at import shops in the United States, but never in as dazzling a range of colors.

Museum shops offer remarkable gifts. The incomparable Museum of Antiquities, a short block from the Nile in Cairo, sells inexpensive reproductions of ancient Egyptian art from its vast collection--in-cluding jewelry found in tombs. I bought a bag of assorted amulets, enough to please half a dozen friends. Museum post cards usually are of extraordinary quality, and they showcase some of the treasures that are off-limits to visitors’ photographs.

Bookmarks are another joyous reminder of travels. Currently, I have one volume marked by a stitchery ribbon from a street market in Budapest, another by a green leather strip from King’s Chapel, King’s College, Cambridge. Books are wonderful souvenirs, too, but, since they weigh more, you have to think harder about the decision to buy.

At Colonial Williamsburg, that largest and most complete restoration of any Early American community, winsome wares include replicas of 18th-Century crafts: pottery vases, pewter mugs, brass candlesticks, wooden toys. You can purchase old-fashioned mulling spices, hand-bound books of poetry and metal weather vanes hammered at the forge by contemporary Virginians in period dress.

I guess that sounds like just another gift shop, but it carries the fine edge of history.

The Williamsburg seal is assurance that it won’t turn up at a Pier One emporium back home, where a friend of mine recently came upon a large, unwieldy basket identical to one she had lugged all the way from New Hampshire.

Many of the best souvenirs are free: smooth pebbles from the mystical High Sierras, a small seashell of translucent pink that washed up on a South Pacific shore, restaurant menus, swizzle sticks, and matchbooks that say “Raffles Hotel, Singapore,” or “Tavern on the Green, Central Park.”

Occasionally, souvenirs have followed me home to be discovered when I unpacked, like the shard of lava from the slopes of Mt. Etna that I found in a toe of a boot.