Organizing a FAM trip for ProColombia, the official country DMO, has always the same basic ingredients: logistics, flights, coordination, and some amount of improvising once you’re on the ground. An accessible travel FAM asks something different of you. Organizing one for five specialists, each working with a different type of disability, with three weeks’ notice, taught me something I think every travel advisor should sit with: accessibility isn’t a product. It’s a conversation.
The group that changed how we planned
We’ve been working in accessible tourism for about two and a half years now. I saw it early on as a part of the Colombia market that wasn’t getting the attention it deserved, and I still believe that. But this FAM raised the bar in a way the earlier ones didn’t. ProColombia confirmed it with three weeks’ notice. Ten spots were open, six specialists joined:
- Yousif Nur (JourneyEase), neurodivergent travel
- Nancy Baker (Fora Travel), accessibility tied to dietary needs
- John Morris (WheelchairTravel.org), wheelchair users
- Susanne Nielsen (Sustravel.dk), accessible tourism
- Amar Latif (Traveleyes International), blind and low-vision travelers
Two wheelchair users with different requirements, one blind traveler, one guest managing dietary restrictions, one neurodivergent traveler. Six people, six different sets of needs, one group. That’s the first thing I want to be honest about: I went in thinking of “accessibility” as one thing we needed to get right. It isn’t one thing.
Accessibility isn’t a category
We often talk about accessible travel as if it were a single category.
It isn’t.
Even two wheelchair users can have completely different needs. One traveler may need assistance with transfers while another is completely independent. One may use a manual wheelchair, another an electric one. One may be comfortable navigating certain terrain while another may find the same conditions impossible.
The same applies to visual disabilities, neurodivergence, dietary restrictions, and many other needs that we tend to group under the word “accessibility.”
One of the most important lessons we took from this FAM was to stop thinking in terms of:
“This is accessible” or “this isn’t accessible.”
And start thinking:
“This is what you will encounter. Is it right for you?”
It sounds like a small distinction, but it completely changes the way we design and sell travel.
Describe it. Don’t promise it.
Calling a hotel or an excursion “accessible” can feel like enough when you’re the one selling it. It isn’t enough, and I’d go further: I think it’s the wrong instinct. The real question is always accessible for whom.
Are there steps? How many? Is there room in the bathroom for a specific chair? Does the shower have a seat? Is there a transfer involved? Is the terrain stone, sand, cobblestone, pavement? Will the traveler need to be pushed? Is the environment loud or crowded? Is the information available visually, audibly, by touch? Can the experience flex without losing what makes it worth doing?
The better the description, the better the traveler decides for themselves. That’s worth more to me than promising a “100% accessible” trip that falls apart the moment someone actually lives it.
Colombia wasn’t built with this in mind
I want to say that plainly, because I don’t think it helps anyone to soften it. Our historic cities, our transport, a lot of our tourism infrastructure, none of it was designed around today’s accessibility standards. A barrier doesn’t mean an experience is impossible. It means we need to understand which barrier it is, who it affects, and what we can actually do about it.
In Bogotá we walked through the Botanical Garden and parts of La Candelaria, one of the most important parts of the city to understand its history, and also a clear example of the tension I’m describing: streets, surfaces, and architecture that are genuinely hard for some travelers.
Then there was Tejo. It’s one of the most Colombian things you can do, and I didn’t want an “accessible itinerary” that quietly cut it because it seemed complicated. We adapted it instead of removing it, and I watched Amar, who is blind, play Tejo, and play it well, while the lanes next to us looked over with a mix of surprise and curiosity. That’s the moment that stuck with me. Adapting an experience doesn’t mean losing what makes it that experience.
When logistics become part of accessibility
Not everything went to plan, and I think that’s worth writing about too. A flight cancellation on the way to Barranquilla split the group across different flights and schedules. For any group that’s a headache. With travelers who have specific needs, every transfer, every airport, every wait becomes a variable you have to actually manage, not just absorb.
Here’s where I think we earn our place: when something is outside our control, that’s exactly when the work matters most. Finding the alternative, reorganizing on the fly, keeping every traveler moving toward something worth their time. That’s accessibility too. It’s not only flawless infrastructure. It’s whether you can respond when the infrastructure, or the operation, isn’t.
When an “accessible” beach stops being one
The hardest moment for me was Puerto Mocho. We’d operated that beach before with wheelchair users and considered it accessible. In front of a group with far more specialized knowledge than we had, we found out it didn’t hold up to their standard.
That was frustrating, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. We’d done the work. We’d tested it. It worked, for certain people, under certain conditions. That’s not the same as accessible, full stop. An accessible bathroom doesn’t solve much if getting to it means crossing sand and being pushed the whole way. Infrastructure can technically do its job while the experience around it still has real barriers. If I had to pick one lesson from the whole trip, it’s that one.
“Why are you doing this?”
At some point, one of the specialists asked me directly: why are you doing this, it’s really hard. She wasn’t wrong. It is hard. Some days you solve one barrier and find two more waiting behind it. But I believe Colombia has something real to offer these travelers, and I don’t want our answer to be “Colombia isn’t accessible.” I want it to be: tell us what you need, let’s see what we can do.
What this means for travel advisors
This trip also changed how I think about the advisor’s role in all of this. No local operator has every answer, and no accessible trip should get designed without talking to one. The traveler’s own perspective matters just as much. Someone living with a disability in Madrid, Berlin, or London may walk in with expectations that have nothing to do with someone visiting Colombia for the first time. That doesn’t mean turning Colombia into Madrid or Berlin. It means actually understanding what this traveler expects, what they’re comfortable with, and where their limits are, and then working that out with your local operator.
If you’re starting to sell accessible travel to Colombia, I’d skip the question “what accessible product do you have?” Start here instead:
- What does your traveler want to experience?
- What do they need to feel comfortable and safe?
- What can they do independently, and when do they need assistance?
- What barriers are they willing to face, and which ones are a hard limit?
- What experiences matter most to them?
- What do they expect compared to other destinations they know?
Bring those answers to your local operator. Don’t promise perfection. Build trust through information instead.
Colombia is still learning. So are we.
This FAM didn’t leave me thinking Colombia is a fully accessible destination. It left me seeing how far we still have to go, and honestly, how far we’ve come since our first accessibility-focused FAM with ProColombia last year. This time we brought in more profiles, more destinations, more assumptions worth questioning. It worked, not because everything went perfectly, but because it showed us exactly what still needs work.
An experience that works for one traveler won’t necessarily work for another. Accessibility isn’t a label you attach to a trip. Adapting is possible, but it takes creativity, real knowledge, and conversation, not a checklist.
Maybe that’s what Beauty Without Barriers actually means. Not a Colombia without barriers, but a Colombia learning to recognize them, work with them, and open more doors so more travelers can get to know it. The question was never “can this traveler come to Colombia?” It’s “what can we do so they experience Colombia the best way possible?”
Want to plan an accesible trip to Colombia? Contact us today, and let’s start designing your safe, inclusive, and unforgettable journey.
