that audhd teacher

What happened when an ordinary train ticket mistake turned into an overwhelming experience for me as an autistic traveller in Switzerland.

Switzerland has been beautiful. But four days into our trip, I had an experience on a train in Zurich that made me realise just how much we need to talk about accessibility in travel.

Because accessibility isn’t only about whether you can physically get somewhere. Sometimes it’s about whether you can understand what’s happening when you get there.

We were travelling by train and had bought our tickets through the SBB app. We are from New Zealand, and the Swiss public transport system is very different from what I’m used to. In New Zealand, I’m used to buying a ticket and being able to travel without necessarily having selected a specific timed train.

We selected the first option available on the SBB app for our destination. The first one available. Then we saw a train come to the station, it wasn’t what it said on the app but we assumed it wouldn’t matter.

We didn’t realise that this was a problem. We boarded at approximately 8:56am. When our tickets were checked, we were told that they weren’t valid until 9:08am.

We were confused. Not deliberately difficult. Not trying to get out of paying. Just genuinely confused.

We said we’d get off. Then we were told it was too late. At that point, I didn’t understand what was happening or what I was supposed to do.

I explained that I hadn’t understood the information. The response was essentially: “You speak English, so you understand.”

But speaking English does not mean that you automatically understand unfamiliar systems. And being intelligent does not make you immune to confusion. I have a master’s degree. I am perfectly capable of understanding information.

But I am also autistic. And when I’m overwhelmed, confused, surrounded by people and being confronted by someone who is telling me I’ve done something wrong, my ability to process information can change dramatically.

Then my nervous system took over

I was wearing my sunflower lanyard. I have been wearing it throughout our entire trip. Eventually I went into fight or flight. My instinct was to leave. I tried to get off the train. I was told that the police would be called.

I started hyperventilating. I was shaking. I was crying. I was loud. My parents told the staff that I was autistic and that I had a disability.

I was told that it didn’t matter. That sentence has stayed with me. Not because I expected special treatment. I didn’t.

I had made a mistake. I understand that now. The ticket wasn’t valid for the earlier train.

If I had understood that when I bought it, I simply would have waited. We had paid for our tickets. We weren’t trying to travel for free.

What I needed in that moment wasn’t for somebody to tell me that I was right. I needed somebody to understand that I was overwhelmed.

It took about 30 minutes

After we got off the train, several members of staff followed us. Eventually I was taken somewhere to sit down and was told to calm down. It took around 30 minutes before I was able to come down from the experience.

I don’t know whether I’d describe what happened as a panic attack, an autistic meltdown, or an autistic overload response. I’m not sure the label matters very much.

What I do know is that I had reached a point where my nervous system was completely overwhelmed. And this is something that can happen to autistic people.

It isn’t necessarily a choice. It isn’t someone being difficult. It isn’t someone refusing to cooperate. Sometimes the person who looks like they are being the loudest, most upset or least cooperative is actually the person who has lost the most ability to cope.

Then I discovered something that made the experience even more frustrating

Afterwards, I started looking into what support is actually available for autistic travellers using SBB. And I discovered that SBB does recognise invisible disabilities.

In fact, SBB specifically recognises the sunflower lanyard. It also explicitly includes autism among invisible disabilities.

And SBB has a service called SBB Assist, which can provide assistance at stations, including helping autistic passengers navigate the station and change trains. I had no idea.

I’ve been wearing my sunflower lanyard throughout this entire trip. Nobody had acknowledged it. Nobody had explained that this support existed. Not at the stations. Not at the tourist information centre. Nowhere.

And that raises a question for me: What is the point of having accessibility support if the people who could benefit from it don’t know that it exists?

This is what accessible travel needs to mean

I think we often have a very narrow idea of accessibility. We think about ramps. Wheelchair access. Accessible bathrooms. Elevators. And those things matter enormously. But neurodivergent accessibility can look different.

It can mean:

• clear and unambiguous instructions
• information that isn’t unnecessarily complicated
• explaining unfamiliar systems in plain language
• recognising that speaking the language doesn’t mean someone will understand a complicated system
• allowing someone time to process information
• recognising autistic distress
• understanding that a meltdown isn’t deliberate behaviour
• knowing what a sunflower lanyard means
• making support services visible before someone reaches crisis point
• and responding to someone in distress with curiosity rather than judgement.

I don’t expect every country to operate exactly like New Zealand. And I don’t expect public transport staff to know everything about autism.

But I do think we should be able to expect a little compassion. Especially when someone is wearing a recognised invisible disability identifier and has explicitly told you that they are autistic.

This isn’t a story about Switzerland being bad

I want to be careful about that. This isn’t a story about Switzerland being inaccessible or about every SBB employee. It’s one experience. And actually, I think that’s why it’s worth talking about.

Because sometimes the most useful travel information isn’t: This country is accessible.

It’s: Here’s what I wish I’d known before I arrived.

And that’s something I want to start exploring more. Because I’m autistic. I love travelling. But travelling as an autistic person comes with a completely different set of questions.

Can I understand the transport system?

– Will the signs make sense?

– How overwhelming will the station be?

– What happens if I get confused?

– Will staff understand me if I become non-speaking?

– Will they recognise my sunflower lanyard?

– Where can I go if I become overwhelmed?

– What support actually exists?

And perhaps most importantly: What happens when things don’t go according to plan?

Those are the questions I wish more travel guides answered. So I’m going to start asking them.

Not just: Is this destination accessible?

But: Is this destination neurodivergent friendly?

Because those aren’t necessarily the same thing. And I think neurodivergent travellers deserve to know the difference.