Designing Accessible Travel: How I Plan Rest, Creativity and Energy as a Disabled Traveller

Rachel sat on a roof terrace looking out over the Atlas Mountains.

Travel as design, not escape

For me, travel isn’t an escape from real life. It’s something I design carefully around my body, my energy and my nervous system. When done well, it becomes a way to think more clearly, rest more honestly and reconnect with creativity, rather than something that costs me weeks of recovery afterwards.

As a disabled and neurodivergent person, my travels are rarely spontaneous. Over time, I’ve learned that planning for access doesn’t limit my experience, it expands it. This post is about why I travel, and how I made my trip to Morocco possible without burning myself out before I even arrived.

Why I go: environment matters more than we admit

A change of scenery changes more than just what I can see. It changes how I think. Being somewhere new disrupts my routines in a way that’s intentional rather than chaotic, helping me step out of unhelpful patterns I don’t always notice when I’m at home.

Longer daylight hours and the warmth of the sun have a noticeable impact on my mental health. My nervous system relaxes. My thinking expands. Creativity feels more accessible when my body isn’t working so hard just to get through the day.

Distance from day-to-day expectations also matters. Away from the familiar pressures of productivity, responsibility and routine, rest feels allowed and even valuable. Free time stops feeling like something to justify and starts feeling like a valuable part of the process.

Immersed in palm trees, cacti and succulents at Marjorelle Gardens.

Learning through difference

Travel also gives me a different perspective. Not just culturally, but socially. Noticing how different countries and cultures approach things like disability prompts me to reflect more intentionally on the systems I live within at home.

Noticing the contrasts for example, between attitudes towards disability in Vietnam and the UK doesn’t lead me to simple conclusions. Instead, it raises questions. About access, visibility, assumptions and what we consider ‘normal’. That kind of reflection feeds directly into my work, shaping how I think about inclusion in practice rather than just in theory.

Travel as access planning, not indulgence

None of this happens by accident. Travel is only restorative for me because of my pre-emptive access planning.

That means reducing decision fatigue, conserving energy before it’s spent, and designing in flexibility in advance, rather than reacting when I’m already overwhelmed or unwell.

A spreadsheet of activities, colour-coded by priority, along with booking links and date-specific information to help with organising adventures as my energy allowed on a day-to-day basis.

How I make travel possible: reducing cognitive load

One of the most impactful adjustments I make is booking through a travel agent who I can visit in person and message via WhatsApp if there are any problems. Having someone else work through flight combinations, luggage rules and dates removes a huge amount of cognitive labour. It’s not a luxury; it’s an access strategy that allows me to travel at all. 

This is my third year booking with the same travel agent, which also makes a difference. They’ve come to understand what kind of environment and activities I enjoy, what pace works for me and what details matter the most. That ongoing relationship means I’m not starting from scratch each time. Instead of just processing transactions, they suggest thoughtful additions and small adjustments that help me get more from my time away, often spotting opportunities or challenges I wouldn’t have considered myself.

Similarly, downloading offline maps and translation apps in advance means I’m not relying on connectivity, energy or memory when I’m already navigating unfamiliar environments.

Protecting physical energy before it runs out

Airport assistance plays a significant role. It allows me to move through security and passport control more efficiently, avoid overstimulating spaces and board the plane early, when things are quieter and less physically demanding.

In the past, I resisted the assumption that airport assistance automatically meant using a wheelchair. This time, as my physical health has now changed, I requested a wheelchair. That decision wasn’t about giving up independence; it was about reducing fatigue, lowering the risk of dizziness or fainting, and saving my energy for the actual experience of being away.  

I’ve written before about passing out in an airport and how that very physical experience helped me confront the internalised ableism shaping my decisions.

Rachel sat in a wheelchair on the tarmac at Marrakech Menara Airport.

Food, medication and safety as foundations

Travelling with a doctor’s letter allowed me to keep my food and medication in the cabin with me, reducing the risk of it getting lost and the pressure of finding safe gluten-free, low-histamine food in an unfamiliar place and foreign language.

Given the changes to my health since touring South India last year, this year I took a month’s supply of complete nutrition. This removed the daily stress around meals, cooking and washing up, while still giving me the option to explore local food when and where I felt able. Safety and curiosity don’t have to be in conflict.

Designing for rest, not just activity

This time, I chose to book a month in a self-catered apartment, rather than join a fast paced solo group tour moving to a new area every day or two, as I had in previous years. The deciding factor wasn’t location or aesthetics, it was whether the balcony looked like a place I could genuinely enjoy resting.

I took books, my journal, poetry and craft supplies so that even on days when I wasn’t out exploring, my time still felt rich rather than empty. Rest doesn’t mean boredom; it means choice.

Low energy activities to do between naps and adventures: card games, colouring in, sketch book, scrapbook, journal, watercolour set, illustrated books and of course some snacks.

Building flexibility into plans

I planned activities in layers: a small number of top priorities, a handful of possibilities, and then many more optional ideas that simply sounded interesting if there was time/energy to spare. All of the activities were also refundable up to 24 hours beforehand.

This approach gave me options without obligations. I didn’t need to research on the spot if I had more energy, and I didn’t feel like I was failing if some of the lower priority activities had to change. Flexibility was built into the structure, not added as an afterthought.

Accepting help as a skill

The most significant change for this year was that I didn’t travel solo this time. My Dad joined me for the first half of the trip, then my Mum for the second. I also accepted help from my sister with packing and getting to the airport.

These aren’t signs of dependence. They’re examples of skilled interdependence, recognising when support enables participation rather than limiting it.

Dad and I on the plane as we fly to Marrakech

Designing for reality

Accessible travel isn’t about doing less. It’s about doing things differently. Planning, support and rest don’t dilute the experience; they make it possible.

For me, at this stage of life, travel works best when it’s slow, intentional and designed around reality, not around how things ‘should’ look.

This is what sustainable travel looks like for me. Not effortless. Rarely spontaneous. But deeply considered, creative and nourishing.

And that same principle, designing for real bodies, real limits and real lives, is something I believe we need far more of, well beyond travel.

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