The Apollo 11 coin is a gold‑sized capsule of the whole 1969 frenzy—glinting with the mission patch and the “First Steps on the Moon” text. I’ve chased a handful of those, and each one feels like a passport stamped in the sky. Some versions even have tiny lunar craters etched on the reverse, a subtle nod to the regolith that those astronauts tumbled over. The minting dates line up with the launch, so you can sort them by the exact day the rocket fired. I always carry a little pocket notebook where I jot the mint’s press release, the silver content, and that weird anecdote about how one batch was accidentally struck at the wrong time and had a slightly different edge. Space coins are proof that a nation’s dreams can be turned into something you can hold—literally—so the currency isn’t just paper or metal, but a story that keeps spinning around the Earth.

That’s exactly why I keep a small stack of them in my suitcase—each edge feels like a different kind of grit, like walking on different patches of the lunar surface. The 1969 series has that classic reeded edge, but a few special editions have a flat, even burnished border that makes the crater symbols pop a bit more. If you stack them side by side, the texture differences are almost like comparing the dust on the Apollo 11 landing site to the fine powder on Luna‑16. It’s like each coin is a tiny, tangible map of a moment you can’t get back from, but can still hold in your hand.

Sure thing—I’ve got a small Apollo 13 mint‑mark on the edge that’s a bit smoother, like a freshly powdered regolith, compared to the more burr‑ed Apollo 11 one that feels like the jagged dust of an impact crater. If you run your fingertips over the Apollo 17 version, the edge is almost burnished, almost like you’re touching a polished lunar surface; it’s a whole different feel, like the Moon’s surface changes from one mission to the next. Just hold them side by side, and you’ll feel the subtle shift in history.

Totally, the tactile vibe is what makes the whole hunt feel like a mini‑spacewalk. Each coin’s edge is a different chapter of lunar dust, and I always feel like I’m flipping through a cosmic photo album—just hold one, compare it, and you can almost hear the silence of the Moon.