"It's real": How I travel the world in a wheelchair

Starting something new is always a little scary. - especially when you are sitting in a wheelchair, especially when you have fragile bones that can break from a slight fall or the slightest blow. For years I have been looking for reasons why I should never leave my family for more than a few meters, and if I couldn’t find it, then my resourceful mother would come up with a hundred reasons for me. I understood: it will take several more years, and I will still be sitting in the four walls, dreaming of an unprecedented “barrier-free environment” and travels.

So it turned out that I have a congenital disease - "osteogenesis imperfecta", or, more simply, fragility of bones. Up to thirteen years, every year I spent several months in plaster due to the fact that I put on my sneaker unsuccessfully or strained my leg, and took the first independent steps on crutches only after coming of age at the clinic named after G. A. Ilizarov. At the age of twenty, I was given a certificate of "life-long" disability, which states that I am disabled. I remember how upset when I heard such a sentence, but now I understand that this is just a piece of paper. Which, by the way, gives a lot of nice bonuses - for example, free entry to museums and the absence of a fee for a Schengen visa.

My best friend Yulia has been traveling in the US for several years in the United States and told me about all sorts of amenities for people in wheelchairs. The phrase "accessible environment" seemed utopian, and the girlfriend never stopped telling her: "Decide, this is real!" - and threatened to drink tequila to put on the plane. I don’t remember if Yulia suggested to me or I asked myself if she would go with me, but we agreed to fly to Spain in winter, and before that pass the test of Moscow: if I survived the inaccessible metro and monstrous ramps, then Europe will definitely me in the teeth.

Moscow

The most difficult thing in the whole adventure is to confess to parents. Parental care for disabled children is multiplied by ten. I understand them: all my fifty-plus fractures, dozens of surgeries, and trips to the hospital for six months, they experienced with me. I told them about my crazy plans only a week before departure, in a firm voice and firmly, having thought through the answers to all the additional questions beforehand: "They will put me on a plane, they will meet me at the airport by car, I will not need the metro, I will not be alone." I am grateful that they did not throw up the scandal and let go, even if they themselves were sitting around the clock with the phone in their hands while waiting for SMS.

It turned out that airplanes are the most accessible "public transport" in Russia. At airports, you feel like a queen: they meet you, register without a queue, help you get through customs, and with the help of ambulift you are taken aboard. True, all this luxury is only in large cities. Where I live, landing is accomplished with the help of ordinary movers. By the way, the stroller and crutches are always transported free of charge.

I was sure that in Moscow I would finally see active people in wheelchairs in the city center. The only two people I noticed were standing near the metro with an outstretched hand. I also got caught up: once I was standing on crutches near a residential building near the Kursk railway station (I was waiting for a friend who parked the car), a woman came up to me and lent a cookie and an apple with wishes for a speedy recovery, and another girl tried to give money. It was awkward, considering that I came there to get a tattoo for my money.

Getting around the capital in a wheelchair is real only if you are in a car. I remember a friend left me alone to cross the Crimean Bridge, and she returned to the car for the documents. I enthusiastically spun the wheels, parallel to enjoying the view of the Moscow River, and on the other side I was met by an irresistible wall of curbs, potholes and crookedly parked cars.

When I returned home, in Vnukovo I talked with a guy in a wheelchair who flew to a sanatorium and called me with herself: “Fly! There are many like us, we will go to discos”. And when he learned that I flew to Moscow alone, I delightedly christened the "desperate traveler." If he knew how cowardly I am!

Spain

I still do not quite understand how, in February 2016, my friend and I ended up at the Madrid airport with one backpack for two, a wheelchair and a pair of crutches, which are always included with me. There were no problems with the registration of a Schengen visa, except for the fact that I had to go to the nearest visa center in another city, but with the rest it was nervous. A friend likes to move actively - it seems to her that two or three days is more than enough for a city. We had bought tickets for ten days. The route was made with the help of a coin, Brodsky and a ball with predictions. For example, Brodsky to the question "Should we buy tickets to Germany?" replied: "Emptiness. But when you think about it, suddenly you see a light from nowhere." Of course, we wanted to see the light! Especially if it is from nowhere. As a result, the route looked like this: from Madrid in three days we had to fly to Germany (it was cheaper than to travel around Spain), where according to plans it was to take a bus from Cologne to Hamburg, and already from Hamburg to fly back to Madrid to Two days later, return to Moscow with a transfer in Rome. Accommodation found through couchsurfing. It did not scare me to live with strangers, the only thing I was worried about was how I would get on the buses every time.

Information about the travel of people with disabilities looking for bits and pieces. There is an Internet project Invatravel, where people with limited mobility share stories, life hacks, tell where the cobblestones are most and in which hotel the wheelchair does not fit into the door. In addition, you need to explore the sites of public transport to be aware of which station does not have an elevator. It is imperative to write to hostels (or hotels) and to clarify whether it’s really possible to get inside on a wheelchair without help, and even better to demand a photo of the promised ramp - it will be clear what is its angle of inclination. If you go by bus from one city to another, when buying tickets, it is also better to write to the carrier company. First, the bus may not be suitable for wheelchairs, and the driver is not able to carry you inside on his hands, and secondly, some companies offer a discount if you send them a certificate of disability.

I flew to Moscow two days before departure to Madrid. My friend and I were on nerves, periodically breaking on each other with the words: "Or maybe, well, let's stay at home?" - they were bought by disgusting bars with muesli and coffee (the euro exchange rate in the meantime was 87 rubles) and only five hours before departure we collected a backpack, where all our things fit in for ten days, a strategic food supply and Tula gingerbread for hosts. When we were unloaded from the car in Sheremetyevo, the footboard fell off at the carriage. I began to panic: ten days without a footpath could not survive, and in general it is a sign - no need to go anywhere. In the luggage they handed over the stroller without a step, and on arrival neatly hooked it back. It's funny, but a year has passed, and the step is kept on a broken piece of plastic - never once did not remind of itself.

I was shaken to the very bus, on which we had to get from the airport to the suburb of Madrid, Torrejón de Ardoz, where our host lived. I in paints imagined how now all the people at the bus stop would push me onto the bus, and prepared to take the test with honor. When I saw the steps inside the bus, I felt completely unwell - but the nice driver came out with the control panel and at the touch of a button turned the irresistible steps into something like an elevator. The gift of speech returned only in Torrejon - in my personal top of Spanish cities, this is perhaps the most beloved. I remember how we walked in the twilight in a cozy tiny park with burnt palm trees, which I saw for the first time in my life, and for some reason were photographed in the night near the library of Federico Garcia Lorca. We were incredibly lucky with the host: his house and apartment turned out to be perfectly adapted for people in a wheelchair. I myself climbed the ramp, went into the elevator and into the apartment. All the next day I recorded a video for my mother: "Look, mom, I myself cross the road!", "Look, and now I am on the subway!".

It seems that I tried everything I could not afford before. I traveled by train, tram, bus and train, walked all day, walked a busy road on my own (oh, horror!), Tried to navigate foreign signs, went to the post office, to the shop, to the bar and to the museum, almost accepted the invitation of a dubious religious organization that offered naive tourists to find their happiness, and even almost spent the night at the airport because of the delayed flight.

The biggest stress was one broken elevator in the subway and impossible paving near the Prado Museum, where, in general, it is more than justified. In order not to turn over, we even got the knack for driving backwards along it. If in Moscow I had to ask for help, then I did not have time to blink an eye how I was helped: a man knowledgeably picked me up on an escalator in a wheelchair, and the Spanish guys picked up on the platform and brought me into an old train car when I was just trying to find out if something newer walks here, I suspect that they simply did not speak English.

Germany

In Cologne, our host, a girl with a shaved temple and abundant facial piercings, volunteered to meet us near the subway at four in the morning. The Germans remembered very responsive. We were terribly tired and stayed with her for a day longer than planned, during which time we had time to sleep off and go to nearby Bonn. We met people in wheelchairs there more often, despite the fact that there are ten times more paving stones per square meter there than on Red Square. By the way, the travelers from us are so-so: in Madrid we walked past the statue of a bear with a tree, which is depicted on all souvenirs, in Cologne we did not go for cologne, and in Bonn we managed to miss Beethoven’s house.

On the seventh day, it was possible to get used to the fact that ramps automatically rolled out on every bus, but I am the most cowardly person in the world and continued to be nervous. According to the plan, there was a seven-hour bus ride to Bremen, where my friend easily got me into a wheelchair. I have no idea how Julia maintained my nervous condition in front of each bus.

In Hamburg, I remember only landfills and pedestrian crossings with very large projections - tactile guides for the visually impaired, which are poorly combined with amenities for wheelchairs. Nevertheless, in my experience, Germany is friendlier towards people with disabilities. In fact, it was an amazing ten days in a parallel universe, where people in wheelchairs move around the city and just live. No one pokes a finger, and the children do not even pay attention to the unusual four-wheel transport. People with disabilities in Europe are part of society, and this is felt.

Sochi

After spending a couple of weeks at home, in early March I got on the plane again - this time to fly for two weeks to Sochi with my mother. I flew to "the most adapted for people with disabilities city of Russia", but Sochi instantly lowered me from European heavens to Russian soil. Inclusion ends at the exit from the airport and the arboretum, where really comfortable lifts were installed. In the center of the city, I was independently able to cross one street, and then twenty-centimeter broken curbs with asphalt patches began. I was immediately struck by pointers with icons "people with disabilities": this embankment is adapted for those who are in a wheelchair, this street is also, but the tactile pointer. Well, just a dream! And then I saw a vertical cliff, which should be a ramp leading to the same embankment for wheelchairs. There are really a lot of ramps in Sochi, but in fact it’s impossible to climb or descend through any of them. And when my mother and I decided to use the bus, also with a “person with a disability” sign, the driver refused at first, and then reluctantly, with all of his appearance showing that we are detaining people, and two stops can be walked on, nevertheless went out . More on the buses, we did not go.

There was little hope for the Olympic Park: it was built, among other things, for the Paralympians. At the station, I was told that the "Swallows" who walk up to the park are not suitable for people in wheelchairs. In the park itself did not work elevators, which raise a man to the bridge connecting the park with sports complexes. Later, the taxi driver said that these elevators include only on special occasions, for example, when the president arrives.

Budapest

The Schengen visa, which expired in August, did not give me rest, and I spontaneously bought tickets to Budapest at the end of June. I didn’t have fellow travelers, and closer to the departure date, doubts became more and more overwhelming: if I couldn’t manage it alone, if something happened, and if I couldn’t explain myself to the Hungarians? With public transport in Budapest is not very: in the subway, almost like in Moscow, only a few stations are equipped for passengers on wheelchairs, and the famous yellow trams convey the atmosphere of the old city, but they are not suitable for wheelchairs. Until the last, I was not sure that I would fly somewhere: it was scary to tears and I tried to find at least one reasonable argument to fly abroad alone. In fact, I would hardly have dared if it were not for my former academic director, and now a colleague and friend from Budapest, who, as soon as she found out about my plans, wrote: "Come, we will meet you!" My parents did not know that I was treating alone - and, to be honest, they still don’t know.

I realized that I was doing it only at the airport when I was stuck on the luggage sticker "BUD-VNUKOVO" on my wheelchair. The group of sportsmen in wheelchairs, with which I was loaded into ambulift, gave confidence. Every time I scare the hell out of the ambulift ramp, but if I had seven people in front of me on the same chairs, then why am I worse? In general, the call took.

Budapest turned out to be something average between a progressive, equitable Europe and the countries of the post-Soviet space: for example, they made a congress on one side of the crosswalk and forgot about it on the other side. Modern trams were found there, however, it’s true that you still can’t do without help. But this motivated me to repulse my inveterate fears: I stopped being ashamed to ask for help from complete strangers.

Planning a trip on my own was harder, considering that I am very poorly guided by maps: I remembered the road from the tram station to my hostel only on the third day. But the feeling of absolute freedom, independence and almost independence (in a beautiful hostel, alas, there was a steep internal ramp) made this mini-journey, perhaps, the best in a year. This is the way out of the comfort zone when every minute you try to curb fear and cope with distrust. Budapest with its bridges, the Jewish quarter, ruin bars, the embankment overlooking Buda and the Danube - the city of dreams.

To be honest, not a single trip was perfect, and there were cases that I did not want to remember. Fortunately, I always came back with whole bones and a ton of impressions. I was very lucky because there were always wonderful people around me. Even if you travel alone, it's all about people. The most important thing is not to stop having fun and appreciate every moment, even if something goes wrong, as it was intended. In general, if all of a sudden you, too, have long dreamed of putting together a backpack and embarking on everything serious - immediately apply for an international passport and buy tickets. If I could turn this and even conquer the hated cobblestones, then you definitely can handle it.

Photo: Yury Gubin - stock.adobe.com, josevgluis - stock.adobe.com, Branko Srot - stock.adobe.com, daskleineatelier - stock.adobe.com, milosk50 - stock.adobe.com