francesca amott

If you are lucky, life will present you with a circumstance in which you suddenly see things differently. If you are really lucky, this will happen more than once in your life. A change in perspective is a common benefit of growing older, but seeing things differently usually happens because something has changed in your life. Such was the case with my fourth – and most recent – trip to Scotland. My previous visits had been solo adventures, where I enjoyed a combination of small group tours and time on my own exploring the cities of my favorite country. The vast majority of my explorations occurred on foot. I’ve walked up and down the Royal Mile in Edinburgh countless times (actually, I probably could count the times should there be a request). I’ve roamed from Kelvingrove Park to Glasgow Cathedral and among the neighborhoods of Inverness. Walking has always been my preferred method of getting around.

Recently, my mother decided that she wanted to go to Scotland for her birthday. She wanted to see this place which had my heart and that so many others in her circle of acquaintances had visited and loved. I booked a trip for the two of us, but shortly before our departure date, she ended up in the hospital. She recovered in time for our trip, but she needed a cane to walk. I was relieved that we didn’t have to cancel the trip and assumed that researching the bus system in Edinburgh was adequate preparation for this new development. I anticipated more time on the bus and less time on foot for this trip, but aside from that, did not expect any major changes to our plans. And, in fact, there were no major changes, which is a testament to my mother’s desire to not be deterred by her new walking aid. However, it ended up being the minor stuff that caught me off guard. I quickly realized how much I had taken for granted as an able-bodied traveler. The bathroom was downstairs and the staircase was tiny and narrow? No problem, I can handle it. The lift was out? No worries, I can carry my luggage up three flights of stairs. But on this trip, these previously minor inconveniences were now problems.

We took the train from Edinburgh to spend a few days in London, and I was genuinely shocked at how many experiences we had where there was no accommodation for those with mobility limitations. I had not been to London in over twenty years, and while I distinctly remembered that using the underground Tube system involved a lot of stairs, I naively assumed that this major world capital had perhaps installed an escalator or two by now. In fairness, some stations did have escalators, but the lack of consistency and clarity on which stations were accessible led to quite an exhausting Tube experience. Often, the only way to get to the escalator or lift was by taking the stairs. Even the stations with wheelchair icons only meant that the platforms were wheelchair-accessible, not necessarily the options to get from the platforms to the street level.

I also found myself in disbelief at how many times we were eating at a restaurant and discovered that the bathroom was not accessible. Most restaurants had restrooms on lower levels, requiring the diner to use a small staircase, but also had a handicapped restroom on the main floor. But, in far too many cases, the handicapped restroom was broken. The food was always delicious. The conversation with other diners and waitstaff was delightful. But the restroom was unavailable. We quickly learned to dine close to our hotel, so that my mother did not have to endure further discomfort during the Tube ride back to where we were staying.

This trip raised my consciousness about how many things I take for granted as I travel, about how minor inconveniences for me are major roadblocks for others, about how what I assume to be logical is not a universal consideration. But it also reinforced what I love most about travel, which is forming connections with others. Time and again, we encountered so much kindness from strangers. A random man carried our luggage up the stairs at the Tube station when we first arrived in London (we wisely took a taxi on the return trip). Another tourist left his group of friends to help make sure my mother was okay getting off the boat at the Forth Bridge Boat Tour. We had a lovely conversation with an older man on a mobility scooter after stopping to watch him navigate a steep incline to Princes Street Gardens.

I’ve wondered how much of my surprise from this experience stemmed from my expectations. If we had traveled to a developing country or a place far more culturally different from my own, would I have expected accommodations for those with mobility limitations? I’m sure I would have not made any assumptions and done more research before departing. And honestly, I probably would have been more understanding about a lack of accommodation. My friends have a young daughter who uses a wheelchair, and they have an Instagram page devoted to sharing their experiences with mobility accommodations. So, I can’t say that I wasn’t aware of this issue before traveling with my mother. But I guess I didn’t really “get it” until I had my own experience.

I actually have plenty of experience traveling with a stroller. When my nephew was young, my family and I took many trips where we had to carry the stroller up a flight of stairs, or go the very long way around because that was the only ramp option. But I suppose I always considered those experiences temporary and so didn’t put much thought into the inconvenience of the situation. Knowing that this time the situation wasn’t temporary caused me to see things differently. Between babies in strollers and seniors with walkers, veterans with prosthetics and anybody in a wheelchair or using a mobility aid, accommodation should not be seen as an burdensome obligation but rather as the obvious right thing to do. I understand that retrofitting older facilities is costly and takes time. But I hope that the conversation about reconsidering tourism to mitigate the effects of over-tourism and climate change includes considerations for accessibility. I will certainly be paying more attention to this now.

I should note that my mother had a wonderful time and continues to rave about her trip to anyone who’ll listen. She doesn’t drink alcohol, yet her favorite moment was having lunch on the rooftop of the Johnnie Walker Princes Street building. She loved the view overlooking Edinburgh. I did as well, but I also really liked their elevators.