“Fully accessible.” 

Two words that are meant to reassure. Two words that are supposed to make disabled people feel safe booking, visiting, travelling. 

And yet, they are often the two words that make me pause. Because when I see “fully accessible”, I do not feel reassured. I feel wary. 

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been asking AccessAble Ambassadors to share moments when somewhere described itself as fully accessible, but reality told a different story. The specifics vary. The feeling does not. 

Disappointment. Frustration. Embarrassment. Risk. 

When access is reduced to a tick box, we are the ones who absorb the consequences. 

Independence Is Not Optional 

Dr Hannah Barham-Brown’s story is unfortunately very relatable. 

An organisation booked her into a hotel for an event. They phoned ahead, checked it was wheelchair accessible, and were told yes. 

When Hannah arrived, the entrance was up eight steps. There was a doorbell at the bottom to call for help. It either did not work or was ignored. She waited outside until a stranger went inside to find someone. A staff member eventually escorted her around the back of the building, past bins, to a lift that required a staff badge to operate. 

She was told she would need to be escorted in and out every time she wanted to leave or return. No one could explain how she was meant to contact them, given the broken doorbell. 

On paper, the hotel believed it was fully accessible. In practice, Hannah could not access it independently. She paid the same rate as everyone else, but her access came with conditions. 

If the hotel had been honest, she could have made an informed choice. She could have chosen somewhere else. She could have arranged support. 

Instead, a blanket phrase replaced detail, and she paid the price. 

A Ramp That Might as Well Not Exist 

Ross Lannon’s experience happened at a local event. There were blue badge parking bays. There was a ramp. 

But because of unclear floor markings and the volume of cars, vehicles were parked directly in front of the access route. Some people could squeeze through. Ross, as a wheelchair user, could not. 

Technically, the ramp existed. Practically, it was useless. 

Ross documented the experience online, not to shame, but to highlight the issue. The video reached nearly 1.7 million views. He also contacted the venue privately, suggesting clearer markings around the ramp. To their credit, they listened, they apologised, and they were open to change. 

But the lesson is simple: installing a feature is not the same as protecting it. 

A ramp is not access if it is blocked. An accessible parking bay is not access if it is not respected. “Fully accessible” often hides that gap between intention and reality. 

Access Does Not End at the Door 

Beth Wooller’s experience reminds us that access is not only physical. 

She visited a historic house and gardens with a dedicated accessibility page and strong claims online. She booked a tour in advance. At the front desk, she explained that she has a hearing impairment and relies on lip reading. She was told to inform the guide. 

She did. The guide allowed her to stand near the front but was wearing an opaque face covering and was not permitted to lower it. 

As the tour moved from room to room, Beth strained to hear. She likely understood less than 10% of what was said. Her speech to text app was ineffective. Her husband tried to repeat key points quietly but could not keep up. 

She left feeling excluded from an experience she had paid for. 

There were potential solutions: transparent face coverings, printed scripts, headsets, better staff training about supporting people with hearing loss beyond hearing loops. 

The venue thought it was accessible, and its website said it was accessible. But accessibility is not just about entry, it’s about participation. 

The Real Cost of Getting It Wrong 

Across these stories, the pattern is clear. 

“Fully accessible” often means: 

• There is a ramp somewhere. 
• There is an accessible toilet, unless it is being used for storage. 
• There is a lift, but you may need a staff member to operate it. 
• There is a policy, but staff may not understand how to apply it. 

What it rarely guarantees is independence, clarity or dignity. 

No place can meet every access need perfectly. That is not the expectation. What we ask for is honesty. 

• Tell us about the eight steps and the side entrance. 
• Tell us the ramp can become blocked during busy events. 
• Tell us the guide wears a mask and there are no printed scripts. 

Give us facts, not labels. 

When I talk about the confidence gap in travel, this is what I mean. The constant calculation. The energy spent anticipating barriers. The quiet question in the back of your mind: will this actually work? 

Vague language increases that mental load. Detailed information reduces it. 

At AccessAble, that is the difference. Detailed Access Guides do not say “fully accessible”. They describe what’s there, in detail, verified by trained surveyors. 

Replace a tick box with detail and you replace uncertainty with choice. And choice is what real accessibility looks like.