Accessible England
In May and early June of 1996, Kent and I joined a group of antique aficionados for a bus tour of the English countryside, scouring small-town shops and scores of antique fairs. In fourteen days, the eighteen of us made as many as six stops a day, mailing home boxes of collected treasures as we progressed. Since many were dealers, the sheer volume of packages was overwhelming. We had a wonderful time, made many new friends and saw the best of England, despite a grueling schedule.
Repeatedly getting on and off our 36-passenger bus was a challenge but was not insurmountable. Using lots of handles, holding on to whatever was available, and keeping other people close, I was able to mount the steps of the bus and manage my way to a seat by myself. I even made my way to seats toward the back many times, simply because I wanted to be a part of other conversation. My wheelchair, when the luggage hold was filled with suitcases or boxes awaiting mailing, had its own assigned seat and rode folded with a plastic bag under it to protect the upholstery.
Dismounting from the bus was trickier but, by reversing the boarding procedure, I could do it. If the bus happened to be parked at an odd angle to the ground, though, the last step could be large. Kent also carried me off sometimes, usually at the end of each day. I was always the last one off the bus; Kent or the British driver always had my chair assembled and waiting when I disembarked.
I wouldn’t call our trip a customary bus tour, but it did instill in me a knowing that bus travel is not impossible because of my chair. That little bit of knowledge is important and great for my self-esteem.
Our trip to England was extremely enlightening, and not at all what I expected. For the first two days and the last three, we stayed in a London hotel. Our first room was small and, because my chair did not fit the space between the bed and the "loo", I could not get to the window and check the view. Our last English room had a better layout, although it was no bigger. Both rooms had a step up into a bathroom with slippery marble floors. Neither was a handicap room since the hotel had none. At least it had an elevator! Elevators are called "lifts" by the British, and operate slowly with long, anxiety-producing pauses.
On our bus tour of England, we stayed in lovely 400-year-old inns. They were filled with historical charm, and every person on the tour loved them. As wonderful as they were, the beautiful old stone structures were not, of course, ADA equipped. Bathrooms were added wherever space permitted, usually up a step or two and down three steps on one occasion. Most of the inns had no sleeping rooms on the ground floor. In England, the ground floor is the one American's refer to as the first floor; their first floor is one flight up from the ground floor. Hallways, especially on the lower floor, are peppered with character-giving uneven steps, probably placed to accommodate the countryside’s terrain. Floors are almost always carpeted, but underneath the fabric, on the ground floor, are lumpy stone blocks. One, two or more steps must be traversed just to get into every building. Needless to say, steps were always a problem.
Usually Kent just maneuvered whatever steps we encountered, but when the group stopped for the night (or two, or three) and the nearest sleeping quarters were up a flight of stairs, he enlisted aid. I think every able-bodied male on the excursion helped Kent move me either up or down at least once. I slowly walked up one grand curving staircase two nights in a row, with Kent stabilizing my right arm and the tour driver following as safety man. The last few days on the road, the two of them devised a unique "chair" with their arms and carried me up and down. To make it simpler for everyone, I went up only once a day, at bedtime, and came down only once, at breakfast.
It’s still too soon for me to be ready to go back, but I would not trade the experience in the charming English inns for a larger hotel with a lift. However Kent, as a thoroughly experienced caregiver, might rather travel to destinations with fewer steps.
