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When using a mobility device, travel often tests your patience and stamina. For Aaron Broverman, infuriating travel is familiar territory: uneven pavements, delayed elevators, taxi drivers full of questions and more . . . but these are not deterrents. He maintains the quiet determination to get out there anyway.
Broverman is a journalist and the Lead Editor, Forbes Advisor Canada. He’s also a dad and husband. He has cerebral palsy and uses a mobility scooter or forearm crutches depending on the terrain. He loves to travel but Aaron is not interested in cruises or resorts with sanitized experiences. “I like the grit,” he says. “If I’m travelling, I want to see the streets, the real stuff, even if it means sore hands, uphill climbs and accessibility that feels like a bit of a gamble.”
Airports are an inevitable part of travel for some and Aaron doesn’t hate airports, but he certainly doesn’t love how they treat him.
“They ask if I’m travelling alone,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Then they ask if someone’s coming to get me. Then they give me that look, like I must’ve escaped from somewhere. No, I’m not being dropped off. Yes, I’m a grown man with a plan.” He’s been to Portugal, Mexico, Israel, the U.S., and across Canada. He’s not an influencer, he’s not doing this for content. He just likes to travel, and yes, he’s aware that people sometimes act like that’s a shock.
“The weirdest thing isn’t the sidewalks or the subway gaps,” he says. “It’s the people. I’m with my wife, and they ask her if I need help and I’m standing right there! Or they’ll ask her what I want to eat. She always responds, ‘Why don’t you ask him?’” This happens a lot. At airports, restaurants, in taxis and especially if he’s using his scooter.
“There’s this idea that if you use a mobility device, you can’t speak for yourself. People associate sitting with weakness. But if I’m walking with crutches, it’s a whole different attitude. I get respect. People think, ‘Oh wow, look at him go.’”
Aaron is under no illusions about how society categorizes disability. “There’s a hierarchy. I’ve lived it. People rank how ‘capable’ you must be based on what equipment you’re using. It’s ridiculous.”
Throughout his travels, he has discovered that accessibility is often spoken about but many times it does not exist. Broverman has learned to approach those little blue wheelchair icons with suspicion.
“For example, Lisbon had accessible signs on restaurants,” he says. “But then you’d show up and there’d be a step. Just one. That’s all it takes to turn accessible into ‘not today.’” It’s why he often ditches the scooter and sticks with crutches when travelling. It’s more work, more wear and tear on the body, but it gives him control. “I wear baseball gloves to protect my hands,” he says. “And by the end of the trip, I’m in better shape than when I started. Completely wrecked, but stronger.”
Aaron rents mobility equipment whenever possible, especially when flying. “Never bring your own gear unless you’re okay with it being broken. I’ve seen too many people have their wheelchairs or scooters destroyed in transit. I rent when I land now. It’s safer.”
When Aaron travels, he is used to help being offered but sometimes it’s imposed! “I’ve been on tours where I was going slower than the group, and instead of talking to me about it, they assign me a guy, like a minder. Suddenly I’ve got someone shadowing me and I didn’t even agree to it. Why not just talk to me . . . let me be part of the solution!”
One of the hardest parts of travelling Aaron has learned isn’t the terrain but the social friction, with each destination bringing its own brand of chaos, both physical and social. The challenges go beyond ramps and bus lifts; they include assumptions, awkward reactions, unsolicited fixing and the discomfort some people show when encountering someone travelling alone with a visible disability. “People often think they’re helping, but they’re actually taking away my control. They grab doors I’m not ready for, or worse, they grab me. If I say no, I look ungrateful. But if I say yes, now I’m relying on someone I didn’t choose.” He continued, “I’ve had cab drivers ask, ‘Where are your people?’ Like I’m lost. Like someone should be meeting me at the carousel with a clipboard. It’s weird. There’s this confusion when they realise I’m travelling on my own. I’ve had people act like I need supervision just because I use a scooter or crutches.”
Understandably, some trips go well while others don’t. During a trip to New York with his dad, his scooter’s battery died completely. “My dad had to push me through Manhattan in August,” he says. “It was brutal. Just sweating, dodging people, trying to find the hotel. A total disaster, but we survived.”
New York remains a favourite, even with its inaccessibility. “The subway’s a mess, the elevators are rare, and the gap between the train and the platform? Forget it. But there’s something about the energy. Seems like the city dares you to keep up. And I like that.”
Despite the hassles, Broverman keeps moving. He’s already planning for Australia in 2027, where his son will compete in the World Dwarf Games.
“It’s a pain sometimes, yeah. But I want my son to see the world. I want to see it too. And I want people to know it’s possible even if the world still makes it harder than it needs to be.”
What would help? Honest travel reporting. “If you’re going to write about accessible travel, actually talk about it. Tell us if the accessible bathroom is really down two flights of stairs. Tell us if the bus lift works one out of three times.”
And don’t make it about inspiration. “I’m not here to inspire anyone,” he says. “I’m just trying to get from A to B without someone grabbing my arm.”