By Melissa Bean
The “lifelong learning curve” of living with an amputation makes just about everything an adventure, from buying new jeans to choosing a blender, but international travel is the latest experience to test my ingenuity. In September, I went to Paris.
I’m 53 and have a congenital amputation, left arm below the elbow. I traveled alone, so I expected a few struggles, but only those related to being a single woman in a foreign country. Of course, I didn’t go into the planning for my trip thinking about how it would look for me as an amputee – I rarely approach experiences that way. Eventually, though, I am forced to consider how my limb difference will affect my activities and that’s a process that usually works for me – I figure out issues as they arise.
Elevator as Amenity
My first clue that I might face some real unmet needs on this trip began with booking my tickets. I’m never sure if I want to officially request help when I fly or just hope I find it when I arrive. I know I’m fortunate to have this choice. I decided I would pack lightly and ask for help when I arrived at the airport and so on – I can easily request accommodation in the disabled security check line and help with my carry-on when I board the plane, and in reverse when I disembark.
Next, I began to arrange my lodgings through a popular rental-by-owner website. I chose dates, neighborhood, amenities, and a price range. Many of the rentals I found were on the fourth and fifth floors in buildings with no elevators. I don’t mind stairs, but I can’t carry my luggage up that many flights without severe back pain. I have adult-onset scoliosis caused by my amputation.
However, the website didn’t offer a filter for the elevator as an “amenity.” It only offered a filter under “accessibility” that covered “stair-free entry,” and there were limited rental options included in that category. I didn’t need a completely stair-free entrance. A few steps here and there aren’t going to cause me injury, but five flights with a heavy bag will. So, I searched through every rental I considered for the number of flights to the unit and elevator/no elevator in the building. It was time-consuming, but in no way diminished my excitement for my trip.
Airborne Adjustments
My flight to Paris was a little nutty, and what I mean is that I was nervous, and that made me clumsy, forgetful, and uncertain. Air France was accommodating, and the gate agent didn’t look skeptical or annoyed when I asked to board early, something that has happened to me on other airlines.
Once we were airborne, the crew served dinner. On a huge plane, this takes time. I enjoyed my chicken in mushroom sauce with salad, bread and champagne. (Air France is generous with pillows, blankets, and alcohol with everyone – including the passengers in the economy section.) I felt like the clean-up part of the process took hours, in part, but not only because I spilled water on my lap and was sitting in wet pants on a soggy seat cushion I had no means to make dry with the single “serviette” that came with my meal. My difficulty is that with the tray table down and topped with an empty plate and cups, I was completely trapped in my seat.
People with two hands can pick up the remnants of their meal in one hand, lift the tray table with the other, and scoot out of their seat. I’m not saying it’s easy to do, but it is possible, just not for me. So, I waited. I really needed to use the restroom to empty my bladder and blot my pants, but when I asked if I could throw away the trash from my meal, the flight attendant said they were not cleaning up yet and hurried away. I didn’t have the opportunity to explain my circumstances. You can’t blurt out “I’m stressed and I spilled my drink and I don’t have a left hand so I’m stuck in this seat” on a plane without creating a scene. I really didn’t wet my pants, but it sure looked and felt like it. And this is where the lucky traveler just has to say, “c’est la vie.”
Once we landed, my sleep-deprived self made it through the airport to a train and then the metro to arrive near my lodging six blocks away. The streets did not treat me and my luggage kindly. Nothing makes pulling wheeled luggage over cobblestones easy, no matter how many limbs you have. I pushed and pulled; my luggage tripped, got stuck, and fell over. I might have shrieked a few times. I definitely groaned, huffed, puffed, and said “merde” in English over and over.
The Long Jump from Curb to Car
My budget didn’t cover taxi rides, so I walked, took the bus or train, and rode the metro, all affordable options with some accommodations for passengers with disabilities. Boarding the bus or train was a gymnastics routine where I tossed my suitcase over the gap between myself and the coach, paid for my ticket, and squeezed through the aisle toward an open seat. The buses and trains all had a designated section of seats for people with expectant mothers, people with disabilities, and the elderly. I was amazed and impressed that this section was universally respected. Further, if it was full, and someone in the regular seating section noticed my limb difference, they quickly offered me their seat.
Paris city buses are accessible and have lowered floors, automated center ramps, and designated wheelchair spaces. The Régie Autonome des Transports Parisiens (RATP)reports that as of 2025, 86 percent of the bus routes in Paris are wheelchair accessible. The remaining 14 percent are in the process of being modified. Trains have elevators at most stations, but not all.
Throughout my trip, I saw people with disabilities on almost all forms of public transport. I saw people who were blind, people with support dogs, people using canes, crutches, wheelchairs and walkers, and people with lower limb prosthetics. However, I did not see anyone in a wheelchair on the metro – only on buses and trains. In fact, there is only one fully step-free metro line in Paris – metro line 14.
With or without luggage, the metro was like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. There were platforms and stairs, escalators and elevators, long hallways you hoped would lead to ground level and thousands of people rushing to and fro. I’m not saying it was inefficient, but it took me a few weeks of practice to use it effectively, rather than wandering around, hoping to eventually find an exit near my intended destination.
Taxi!
By the end of my stay in Paris, I was feeling a bit beat up physically. Exhilarated, but tired. I’d been to museums and markets, eaten at bistros and ridden the “bateaux bus” on the Seine. Beautiful days in an amazing city can still be exhausting, and I had another week ahead in a different country. I decided a cab ride to the train station and eventually back to the airport was necessary and justified.
My trip would be over if I injured the shoulder of my unaffected arm, and it is prone to strains. I would be limited in my activities if my back pain flared up and I needed a few days to recover. I realized the cost of a few taxis would be worth it to ensure I stayed healthy for the rest of my trip. I’m glad I recognized the need to address this issue before it became a situation.
Every amputee has different needs in daily life and on vacation. I could never attempt to advise another amputee exactly how to take a trip to another country. What I can say is that I learned that creativity and kindness to myself are two important tools for making travel work for me as an amputee. My visit to Paris was a total success, and I am looking forward to future adventures as a solo traveler. I’m also planning a second review of my visit to Paris next month, with a focus on what I saw as a cultural difference in the approach to disabilities.
