How to Make Travel More Inclusive: Real Stories from Various Travelers

What does it actually look like to make travel more inclusive?

For many of us, it starts with the moments that are often overlooked: reading a menu in a new language when you have a food allergy, navigating sensory overwhelm in a crowded airport, or wondering if a tour will accommodate your body size or medical device. These moments might not make the guidebooks — but they deeply shape how we experience the world.

I’m Audra, the history-loving traveler behind The Nerd Traveler, where I explore how heritage, culture, and identity intersect with every journey. And I’m Lisa from 1 2 3 Go Solo, where I empower women to embrace solo travel with confidence — whether it’s their first trip or their fiftieth, locally or globally.

We’ve teamed up with other women travelers to share what inclusion looks like in practice — not just in marketing.

This collaborative series includes four real stories from travelers who have navigated international travel while managing:

• Food allergies

• Neurodivergence

• Medical devices

• Plus-size accessibility needs

What Does Inclusive Travel Really Mean?

“Inclusive travel” is a phrase that gets used a lot — in tourism marketing, in DEI conversations, and on listicles promoting accessible resorts or destinations. But for those of us living with specific needs, inclusive travel is not a trend. It is a daily negotiation between what we dream of doing and what our body, brain, or dietary needs will allow.

It means asking a hotel if their “accessible room” has more than just wide doorways. It means checking if the food tour includes options that will not make you sick for two days. It means wondering if you will fit comfortably on the plane — or if you will have to explain, again, why your medical device cannot go through the scanner.

And more than anything, it means not having to justify why you deserve to be there.

Inclusive travel is about more than ramps and allergy menus. It’s about making space — in itineraries, in infrastructure, in our mindsets — for the beautifully varied ways people experience the world. And when that happens, everyone benefits.

This post is not a checklist. It’s a collection of real stories from travelers who have learned how to advocate for themselves, plan with intention, and still find joy along the way.

In our first installment, we shared our own stories on how the two of us approach food sensitivites and allergies while traveling the world, experiencing different foods and cultures.

Our second installment, which we bring you today, is written by Al Hawn, a queer and neurodivergent traveler:

Traveling with Neurodivergence

Neurodivergent travelers often experience the world through a sensory lens that others may not see — but that doesn’t make it any less real. Things like sudden schedule changes, unpredictable environments, crowded spaces, and noise can turn an otherwise simple travel day into a minefield of overwhelm.

And yet, neurodivergent people travel all the time — they just have to plan differently. From creating personalized routines to using noise-canceling tools or prioritizing destinations that feel calm and structured, travel becomes more manageable (and enjoyable) when it works with their brains, not against them.

Inclusive travel for neurodivergent folks often means allowing for slower transitions, building flexibility into itineraries, and honoring their need for recovery time after highly stimulating experiences.

Al Hawn, Author, shares her story as a queer and neurodivergent traveler.

Al’s Story - Feeling Safe and Supported as a Queer + and Neurodivergent Traveler

When I first started traveling, I didn’t think much about what it meant to travel as a queer, neurodivergent person. I knew planning stressed me out sometimes, and I knew certain destinations might not be welcoming, but I treated those things as background noise — easy enough to work around if I just focused on the fun parts. You plan the trip, you go, and you trust you’ll figure everything else out along the way.

But over time, especially as I learned more about my ADHD and became more aware of global LGBTQ+ safety, that casualness stopped working. What I used to dismiss as “normal trip chaos” was actually time blindness, sensory overload, and anxiety showing up in ways I didn’t yet have language for. I paid the ADHD travel tax more times than I’d like to admit — forgetting to book something important, leaving things until the last minute, or scrambling because my brain simply couldn’t hold details months in advance.

One trip really crystallized everything. I’d waited way too long to book a flight, prices had jumped, and by the time we arrived at our destination, I was already overstimulated and burned out — before the vacation had even started. I remember sitting in a tiny hotel room, scrolling through travel advisories for queer travelers, realizing how much I had relied on luck instead of intention. It was the first time I understood that my brain and my identity weren’t side notes to my travel style — they shaped the entire experience.

Now, I approach travel with a lot more honesty about what I need. I build in breaks because I know I’ll hit sensory overload if I don’t. I choose hotels with spaces where I can decompress — a quiet corner, a gym, even a cozy bookstore nearby. I keep activities flexible: three or four “must-dos,” and a handful of “nice-if-the-energy-is-there” options so I never feel trapped by my own itinerary.

Safety matters in a new way, too. When I work with travel providers, I look for clear signals that LGBTQ+ travelers are welcome — a Pride flag, an explicit statement of inclusion, honest guidance about destinations that might not be safe for me or my wife. I appreciate reminders, too. Send me the flight info again. Nudge me about insurance. Keep the choices simple. My brain works best with fewer options, not a hundred tabs open at once.

And I’ve built little systems that make me feel grounded. A dedicated pocket for essentials so nothing important gets lost in the shuffle. Headphones and a handheld game for sensory overwhelm. A tiny contingency fund for the inevitable “oops” moments — like the time I somehow packed three tubes of toothpaste and no toothbrush.

Traveling as a queer, neurodivergent person isn’t about avoiding who I am; it’s about traveling in a way that supports who I am. And somewhere along the way, that shift made travel feel less like something I had to push through — and more like something I could enjoy with clarity, comfort, and ease.

How You Can Help Make Travel More Inclusive

Inclusive travel is not just about personal checklists. It’s about changing how we think, plan, and move through the world — with more awareness, more flexibility, and more care for each other’s realities.

You don’t have to know every detail of someone’s story to make a difference. Sometimes, inclusion starts with:

• Asking before assuming someone can participate in a tour or activity

• Choosing accommodations that prioritize access for all bodies and brains

• Being patient with fellow travelers who need more time, space, or explanation

• Supporting businesses that train their staff in accessibility, food safety, and cultural humility

  
  

If you are navigating any of these challenges yourself, we hope Al's story reminds you: you are not alone. Your needs are valid. And your presence in the world matters.

If you’re a fellow traveler looking to better understand these experiences, thank you for being here. You’re already taking the first step.

If you have a story to share about how you’ve made travel work for you — or want to be part of a future version of this post — we’d love to hear from you.

Because making travel more inclusive is not about doing it perfectly. It’s about doing it on purpose.

Need Help Planning a More Inclusive Trip?

Audra offers custom travel planning and advisory services to help you navigate logistics, food restrictions, and destination research with intention. Whether you’re solo, navigating allergies, or just need a nerdy deep dive into itinerary planning, I’ve got you covered. Work with me →

Lisa offers 1:1 coaching for women who want to travel solo but don’t know where to start. If you’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to take the leap, she’s the support system you didn’t know you needed. Learn more here →

You can find Al's books on Amazon