Born with a rare vascular disorder, Krista Raspor has always lived in a body that doesn’t follow the rules. As she gets older, the window to take certain trips is closing — and she realized she doesn’t want to wait for the “someday” destinations. (Submitted by Krista Raspor)
This First Person column is the experience of Krista Raspor, who lives in Toronto. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.
Three years ago, I was wandering through the Château d’Amboise when I realized I needed to re-evaluate my approach to travel.
The castle’s spooky hallways and dank tapestries held my interest for a good while, but eventually I hit a wall. To avoid the discomfort of boredom, I focused on the people around me — my fellow tourists.
I was awash in a sea of silver hair. Rubber-tipped canes squeaked across marble floors, and was that deafening noise an oxygen machine?
Yes, it was.
“What am I doing here?” I thought.
Maybe a lot of 40-somethings would have had the same reaction, but when you’re born with a disability, aging can hit differently.
I have a rare vascular disorder called Klippel-Trenaunay syndrome. My right leg is a swollen mess of vascular and lymphatic oddities. Without a custom compression garment, I can’t walk more than a block. My left foot is quite fantastically deformed.
Travelling to France made Raspor realize she should reprioritize her travel destinations. (Krista Raspor)
As the years go by, pain is more frequent and more unpredictable. I don’t know how much longer I have to get to all the places I want to go — it’s a unique brand of travel-related FOMO (fear of missing out).
Shortly after my French castle wake-up moment, I reprioritized my travel bucket list.
If a destination piqued my interest and was not easy (ie. involved physical exertion and/or long-haul flights), it went in the “sooner-rather-than-later” pile.
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That’s not to say every trip should push my limits, but I wanted to stop living in my comfort zone. Less lazing around France because maybe I can’t handle [insert X adventure] and more [insert Y adventure] — but with a refundable ticket.
So I went gorilla trekking in Rwanda, drove down the Turkish coast and ate my way from Hanoi to Hoi An in Vietnam.
Then, last year, X-rays showed I had “severe degenerative changes” in my left foot. Numerous childhood surgeries + time = arthritis. Simple math.
The unexpected diagnosis signalled time was running out and caused another frantic shuffle in travel priorities. A few months later, my husband and I were sweating in the backseat of a Toyota somewhere along the southern shore of Issyk Kul, Kyrgyzstan.
Soon after being diagnosed with arthritis, Krista Raspor decided to travel to Kyrgyzstan. (Krista Rapor)
After spending hours navigating crater-sized potholes on a forgotten Soviet highway, our fearless and unsettlingly handsome driver, Davlet, pulled over next to a creepy statue of cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin’s face.
I crawled out of the car, stiff. As Davlet and my husband reached for their Marlboros, our endlessly entertaining guide Rif turned to me and asked, “Up for a quick, easy hike?”
I wore shorts — my way of signalling my disability without saying a word. And although part of me wanted Rif to cut me some slack, he didn’t. He made no assumptions about what I could or couldn’t do.
By the time we reached the edge of a waterfall about 40 minutes later, I was drenched and panting. But I made it.
‘This is why I’m here right now’
“We’ll head back from here,” Rif yelled, as he patted me on the back in a fatherly way.
As he began his descent, I stayed back.
In a cheesy moment of reflection-meets-gratitude, I gave my body a mental high-five and thought, “This is why I’m here right now.”
When I set out to catch up with Rif, I hadn’t even taken three steps when I fell flat on my face.
I panicked as I lay on the rocky path. Am I OK? Can I get down this hill? Do I need a doctor? Where is the nearest hospital? Do they even have hospitals in Kyrgyzstan?
Mercifully, the rational part of my brain stepped in.
Can you rotate your ankles? Good.
Try standing up. See?
How about a backbend? OK, not great, but overall, you’re fine.
Relax. This is also why you’re here right now.
The eagle hunter Raspor met on her travels through Kyrgyzstan. (Krista Raspor)
The next day, Davlet and Rif took us to meet a third-generation golden eagle hunter.
Perched on his horse, holding his shockingly huge bird, he was clearly the coolest guy on the planet.
After explaining the history and logistics of using a bird to catch dinner, the demonstration began, and it was 100 per cent remarkable. Then came the time for audience participation.
“You wanna try?”
I’m sure he wasn’t serious and didn’t actually want a middle-aged lady with a weird, swollen leg trying (and probably failing) to get on his horse. It was just part of the schtick.
“Of course!” I responded.
Sitting atop a horse and petting the eagle, Raspor says she felt she made the right choice in prioritizing travel destinations before her disability might prevent her from going to them. (Submitted by Krista Raspor)
Before I got on the horse, I looked around expecting to see faces of encouragement.
Nope.
What I saw were clenched jaws and a look of concern from the hunter, our driver and guide, all wondering if I could do it — though my husband seemed chill.
But I got on the horse without incident, took the bird (it was surprisingly heavy) and smiled — actual, genuine, big smiles — for some pictures.
“This is why I’m here right now” was becoming a bit of a mantra.
It came to mind like an irritating Top 40 chorus whenever I crawled off a tapchan (a traditional Central Asian dining table) that was tricky for my wonky legs. I heard the same mantra after sleeping on the world’s least comfortable bed in an otherwise incredible yurt camp.
Every. Single. Squat. Toilet. Honestly, they were oddly empowering (after I figured out how to manoeuvre them).
Travelling through “the Stans” was a way to celebrate the current state of my weirdo body.
Tapchan, a type of dining table popular in Central Asia, was challenging for Raspor to eat at, but she learned to do it. (Krista Raspor)
I know I won’t always be able to travel the way I want to; I’m already making concessions in my choice of destinations and pace of travel. But I try not to get frustrated.
I want to always be able to find something worth whispering my mantra about. Some days it’s easy to find acceptance. Other days, I just swear a lot. And that can be pretty cathartic, too.
The future is uncertain for everyone. We all know this. But my disability has given me a bit of a crystal ball — I can see my physical decline more clearly than most. So, I never say, “I’ll get there one day.” I’m more of a “let’s book it” kinda girl.
And for other trip planners, here’s a bit of unsolicited travel advice: Don’t let fear prevent you from going where you want. Because here’s what most people don’t realize about disabilities: it’s not always an either/or. You don’t just have them or not have them. You have them, or you don’t right now.
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