By Julie Richardson
My mom is 83 years old. She has never owned a passport. She has CMT, uses a walker, and was still recovering from a fractured pelvis. When my sister described a riverboat cruise, she’d taken down the Danube and said, “Mom would love this,” our mother didn’t hesitate. She was all in.
I have CMT 1B, as does my mom, and sister. This past summer the three of us completed a 16-day trip across Europe that included Amsterdam, a Rhine River cruise, and Tuscany. I was nine months out from a 15-hour scoliosis surgery. Mom had a fractured pelvis. And we had the time of our lives.
I’m sharing our story because I believe people with disabilities often think travel isn’t possible for them. It is. With research, preparation, and planning, it absolutely is.
Three different cases of CMT. One incredible trip
Our CMT symptoms vary widely. I was diagnosed in 2001 at age 32, after noticing changes in my walking gait, balance, and fine motor skills. Things got significantly worse after I got the flu in 2022, and I medically retired from teaching in August 2023.
In October 2024, I underwent surgery to fuse my pelvis to T4 in my spine. It was a 15-hour procedure. I spent a week in the hospital learning how to sit up, stand, and walk again. Three months of limited activity followed, then outpatient physical therapy.
My personal trainer, who specializes in functional fitness, made the biggest difference in my recovery — and in my ability to take this trip. She modified my training completely after surgery: helping me relearn how to stand up from a chair, strengthening my hips and legs, and rebuilding my back muscles. I’m still working on it, but I was strong enough to go to Europe. That’s everything.
Mom’s symptoms are the most severe. She struggles with mobility, balance, and fine motor skills, and gets around with a walker. She was still healing from a fractured pelvis when we boarded our flight. My sister’s symptoms are the mildest. he was recently fitted for AFOs and found that walking longer distances is suddenly no longer a problem. Three very different cases of CMT, one incredible trip.
The planning: Every detail matters
Once Mom said she was all in, planning became my full-time job. I researched a disability travel company in Amsterdam that arranged airport transfers, a mobility-accessible hotel with an elevator and large bathroom, and excursions designed for wheelchair users.
An Amsterdam canal tour — the only one with a hydraulic lift for wheelchairs — turned out to be one of the highlights of the entire trip. I confirmed the riverboat had an elevator and upgraded our cabin to accommodate a wheelchair, walker, and three pieces of luggage. For Tuscany, my sister handled the driving; I rented a large car, found an agriturismo (farm stay) with an accessible room, and got an international driver’s license just in case. I arranged wheelchair services at every single airport on the itinerary.
There were a lot of moving parts and every one of them mattered.
Amsterdam: canals, cobblestones, and Frogger
We arrived on a rainy, Seattle-like day. Wheelchairs were waiting as we deplaned and we were whisked by golf cart through the massive airport straight to our car. Seamless. Our Dutch-inspired hotel had adjoining rooms, a large accessible bathroom, and a breakfast that was absolutely delicious.
The biggest Amsterdam challenge? Getting to our Uber. It always arrived across a busy street — past bike lanes, traffic lanes, and trolley lanes — on cobblestones. If you’ve been to Amsterdam, you know those bikes move fast. It was like a real-life game of Frogger, with my sister pushing Mom in a wheelchair and me holding on for dear life. But the canal tour made every cobblestone worth it. The hydraulic lift got Mom onto the boat beautifully, and we floated through some of the most gorgeous architecture I’ve ever seen. We also made it to the Rijksmuseum and stood in front of the Night Watch. Remarkable.
The Rhine River cruise: Treated like royalty
A driver collected us in a Mercedes van and we boarded our luxury cruise ship with champagne in hand. The staff and service were extraordinary. Mom was treated like a queen. The ship’s elevator handled most transitions, but getting to the top deck required stairs. The staff didn’t hesitate. They carried Mom up in her wheelchair so she could stand on the top deck and watch the sun set over Amsterdam as we sailed away. That moment is one I’ll never forget. The ship traveled through the Netherlands and into Germany, past castles and vineyards and river towns glowing in the evening light. Absolutely gorgeous. On the last night, the staff carried mom and her wheelchair again to the top deck so she could enjoy a BBQ dinner under the stars.
Tuscany: Beautiful, bumpy, and worth It
After a night in Düsseldorf (and a 3:30 a.m. wake-up for our Florence flight), we landed in Italy. Our agriturismo outside Pienza was stunning: rolling hills, a gorgeous view, and food that made us want to stay forever. But it came with challenges. The parking lot had deep gravel, which made it difficult to push a wheelchair through. The ramp to our room was steep enough to require two of us pushing mom. And the restaurant, we discovered, wasn’t “a few steps down” as advertised — it was quite a few steps down.
We adapted. My sister pushed mom on the grass alongside the gravel walkway because it was easier. We brought breakfast up from the restaurant to the room the first few mornings. Then my sister got bold and pushed Mom down the grassy knoll so she could enjoy the view from the restaurant. On the return, strangers saw us struggling and came to help push uphill without being asked.
We rented a sturdier local wheelchair from a nearby pharmacy for €5 a day. It was much more durable on rough terrain than our travel model. Every obstacle, we found a way around it. That’s the CMT traveler’s superpower. You’ve spent your whole life adapting and you’re good at it.
One practical tip for Italy: disability parking placards are recognized, but entering a ZTL zone (a restricted traffic area found in most historic city centers) requires filling out a disability form for each city. It’s worth doing. The placard gets you close to the attraction instead of at the bottom of a steep cobblestone hill with no way up.
Five Tips for Traveling with CMT
1. Research disability-specific travel companies. Look for companies that specialize in accessible travel at your destination. They evaluate hotel accessibility, arrange wheelchair-equipped airport transfers, and find tours with lifts or ramps — details that are nearly impossible to confirm on your own from across an ocean.
2. Request wheelchair services at every airport. Book in advance with your airline, not just at departure, but at every connection and arrival airport on your itinerary. International airports are enormous. Golf carts, escorts, and priority boarding exist specifically for travelers like us. Use them without apology.
3. Vet every hotel and excursion for true accessibility. European hotels may advertise “accessibility” but lack may elevators, have narrow bathroom doors, or feature heavy thresholds. Ask specific questions: Is there an elevator? How wide is the bathroom door? Are the hallways level? What is the path from entrance to room? Don’t assume. Confirm.
4. Invest in the right mobility equipment. Cobblestones are everywhere in Europe, and they will defeat a lightweight travel wheelchair. Look for something sturdier, or plan to rent locally as we did in Tuscany. Bring your disabled parking placard. It’s recognized in many European countries, though local rules like Italy’s ZTL zones require extra paperwork.
5. Build your strength before you go. Working with a personal trainer in the months before travel made this trip possible for me. Focus on functional fitness: standing from a seated position, hip and leg strength, balance, and upper body endurance for pushing and maneuvering. The stronger you are going in, the more you’ll be able to do once you arrive. And once you’re there, keep moving! Adapt, problem-solve, and don’t let a hard day sideline you.
Yes, you can do this
At every airport across Europe, disability services were available and people were genuinely glad to help, regardless of whether we shared a language. Strangers helped with luggage, held doors, and gave directions when we lost our car in Siena. On our way home, the Amsterdam airport provided a disability guide who wheeled us from the plane all the way to our hotel room—and was back in the lobby the next morning to take us to our gate. Three women with CMT. One recovering from a 15-hour spinal fusion. One with a fractured pelvis and her very first passport. Sixteen days across three countries. Who would’ve thought? We did it. And if we can do it, so can you.
