Every week, 9Travel shares a top travel tip from our readers or our writers. Have something to share? Email us at travel@nine.com.au for a chance to be featured in an upcoming story.

I can still recall the anticipation of dropping it off, waiting around a week, and returning to the shop, clutching my paper ticket.

It was something I did after every holiday, whether I’d been to the Costa Del Sol, Tenerife or Corfu (all popular beach spots for Brits in the 1990s).

I am, of course, talking about getting my photos developed.

For those born after 2000, let me explain. Before mobile phones were invented, you’d take a camera on holiday. One of those old ones you might have seen on the Antiques Roadshow, which used film.

Sometimes you’d buy a “disposable” one, which could only be used once so you didn’t ruin your real camera by spilling cocktails on it, or the like.

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And you’d gleefully spend your week snapping photos…. but only 24, because that’s how many one reel of film allowed.

The camera had a tiny viewfinder you had to squint through. And after you got home, you took that film to a shop to be developed.

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About a week later (getting the 24-hour turnaround was always too expensive) you’d be handed a thick wallet of photos.

You’d also get the negatives, which you’d need to carefully go through, holding only the edges, to find any shots you wanted to ‘blow up’ for your bedroom wall.

Then, you’d get to relive your holiday all over again via the glossy prints.

Sometimes though, they would come back with stickers slapped on them saying they were “overexposed”, which I always found pretty rude.

I recently dug some of those old photos out. My favourite was one of my mum and I with a pelican (I’d never seen one, okay) in front of a random old car in Cyprus circa 1993.

I even recall taking my holiday pics in to show my school teachers (geek!).

But taking photos on holiday and actually getting them printed out has gone the way of the postcard. Hardly anybody does it anymore (except, perhaps, 9Travel editor Kristine).

We just snap, upload some on social media to show off where we are, and forget the rest.

What to do instead

A few years ago I decided to pull my holiday pics off the internet and into real life – so, after every trip, I now make a photo book.

I create it online and it’s mailed to me, so I don’t even need to leave the house. And I now have a hardback book filled with photos from each of our trips over the past five or so years.

Every so often I’ll look at them.

They take me back to that time we saw the six toed cats at Ernest Hemingway’s house, or decided to stop outside Barry Manilow’s house in Palm Springs.

I just received my latest, and flicking through it takes me right back to the South African plains, for a brief moment.

They’re also great if you want to force people to look at your holiday photos, and I don’t think you can get that scrolling on Instagram.

Drop us an email with all your wisdom to travel@nine.com.au, and your tip could be featured in an upcoming story on 9Travel.

Growing up, I was always enamored with geography, so it’s no surprise that I developed a passion for solo traveling.

In my 20s, I assumed I would solo travel for a few years to “get it out of my system” before settling down. Instead, my destination bucket list grew while my desire for things that felt like societal norms at my age — kids and marriage, for example — dwindled.

By 30, it dawned on me that both of those things are choices, not requirements. While some women successfully balance it all, I’m not personally willing to swap spontaneous trips for dirty diapers.

My solo ventures have led me to experiences like road-tripping in Madagascar and seeing all 20 regions in Italy. Recently, they led me to my 90th country, Mauritius, where I snorkeled with colorful fish and ate street dholl puri.

What Mauritius really provided, though, was a moment to reflect on all that comes with solo traveling as a single, childless 34-year-old woman.

The judgmental comments are relentless, but I don’t let them deter me

I’ve built a business around solo traveling through my Instagram and blog, so I am no stranger to unsolicited comments.

My earliest trips were funded through my work as a bartender, and I quickly became skilled at traveling comfortably on my budget. I finessed systems like SkyScanner’s “Everywhere” search feature to find inexpensive flights, and I slept in affordable hostels.

Still, everyone from strangers online to coworkers in real life constantly insinuated that a man was paying for my trips — or my parents were.

I was taken aback by how frequently people asked how I could afford to travel, when I would never dare ask how someone could afford to raise a child.

I received other nosy questions, too. Whenever I dated someone, people asked if my partner was mad that I traveled alone, or said it was nice that he “let” me go on trips without him.

It made me wonder how often solo-traveling men are told it’s nice their partner “lets” them travel.

Naysayers aside, solo traveling has led me to a community of like-minded people

In my experience, it’s much easier to meet people when you’re traveling alone since you’re not stuck in your own group.

Solo traveling has led me to plenty of friends that I’ve met naturally in hostels, bars, and even on airplanes, and through my online community via social media.

Although solo travel — like babies and marriage — isn’t for everyone, I have found my footing in this world because of it. For me, it’s empowering to be in an unknown part of the world with nothing but myself to rely on.

Even as a seasoned traveler, I still learn something new on every trip, whether I’m dismantling negative stereotypes about places I’d been taught were unsafe or reminding myself I don’t need to wait for a partner to enjoy typical honeymoon destinations.

Solo travel has fed my curiosity, opened my mind, and given me the gift of enjoying my own company.

I wish that my life, passions, and career were celebrated in the way that marriage and kids are

If you had asked me when I was a kid where I saw myself in my 30s, “solo traveling the world” would not have been on my radar.

I assumed my life would consist of a stable career and a house in the suburbs with my husband and kids. However, looking back, I don’t know that I ever actually wanted kids — rather, it was something that was simply expected of me.

Now, I know that I don’t have the desire to have children, although I’m still open to marriage or a long-term partnership with the right person one day.

I recognize that for many, having a family is a dream come true. My dream life, however, is the one I’m living right now.

Perhaps that’s why it’s disheartening that my accolades, like visiting 90 countries alone, will never be celebrated by society the same way having a baby or a ring on my finger will.

Knowing this, I threw myself an “Antarctica send-off” party the night before leaving for my final continent — because, if nothing else, solo travel has taught me to be my biggest supporter and my own best friend.