I am an anxious traveller. Like many autistic people, I have my routines that help me cope in the world. Travel is full of changes, uncertainty, and novel experiences. While some of this can be fun, much of it is stressful and anxiety-inducing.
When I was invited to speak at the 2023 Byron Writers Festival, I was excited. Partly because I had heard so much about the festival and knew it would be a terrific opportunity to meet many of the writers I admired. I was also excited because my husband was coming with me, so I could focus on enjoying the festival and not worry about the stress of travelling because he would deal with all of the things that I find difficult.
However, it wasn’t to be. My husband contracted whooping cough, and it was clear that there was no way he was going to be able to travel with me. So, I steeled myself for the solo travel adventure.
When I got to the check-in desk, my carry-on luggage was 1.1 kg. over the weight limit. I reasoned that, given they hadn’t let me cancel my husband’s ticket, this shouldn’t be a problem. I explained that I effectively had two seats and therefore two baggage allowances. However, the airline representative didn’t see it this way and was adamant that as one passenger, I had one carry-on allowance, so I had to check my bag. If I had been travelling with my husband, I would not have been over the weight limit because he typically doesn’t take much luggage, and we would have spread the essentials across our two bags.
There I was, about to board a flight on my own, on an airline I had not flown before, to a place I had not been before, without any of the things that I normally carry with me to keep me calm. No fidget toy, no water bottle, no snacks, no knitting, just me, my phone and my boarding pass. On top of that, the anxiety that the airline might lose my bag, and I could turn up in Byron without my clothes, pyjamas, toothbrush, and my pink pen.
Luckily, at the last moment, I thought to grab a book out of my bag before it disappeared down the chute. At least I would have someone else’s life to get lost in during the flight. The book, in case you were wondering was Isabelle Oderberg’s Hard to Bear (one of the other speakers on my panel). The flight was uneventful, other than my anxiety about the fact that no one on the plane was wearing a facemask.
When I arrived at the hotel, I checked in, got my map and instructions and room key, and headed off to my room in a chauffeur-driven golf cart. I did all the things I usually do when I check into a hotel room to make it bearable: turned the air conditioning off to reduce the noise and stop the gale force wind blowing on me; tried all the light switches to figure out which lights weren’t designed for police interrogations; closed all the curtains; and replaced the pillow case, soap, and toilet paper with the hypoallergenic ones I brought from home. Then I curled up in a comfy chair and read the rest of Isy’s book.
Saturday
The one thing I do like about travelling is that I can get ready much more quickly because I don’t have to go through internal debates about what to wear. The only clothes I have are the ones I chose when I was packing, so getting ready takes less than 15 minutes: shower, dress, brush teeth, check bag for essential items (even though I packed it the night before).
When I checked in, they told me I could call for a golf buggy in the morning, or follow the map and take a 10-minute walk to reception. What I didn’t count on was that the map was clearly not designed by, or for, autistic people. When I arrived at the restaurant 25 minutes later, my first question to the server was, “Could you please tell me what on the menu is gluten-free?”
His reply stumped me. “Nothing.”
I tried again, remembering all the things I had learnt about not projecting my stress onto other people. “I’m autistic and I get very anxious in strange environments. I can’t eat gluten, I need to eat something, and I have to be on the bus in 15 minutes. Is there anything that you could make gluten-free for me?” He said they could make the granola gluten-free if I didn’t mind a 20-minute wait. I repeated the time constraint I was under. I didn’t know whether it was my reference to being autistic, but he clearly decided that I wasn’t very bright. From that point on, the conversation went downhill.
“There’s the granola.”
“I really don’t have time to wait for that. Is there anything else?”
“There is the GRANOLA,” this time pointing at it on the menu in case verbal explanation wasn’t enough.
“Do you have a gluten-free cookie or a muffin or anything that I could take with me on the bus?”
“No, we don’t have any of those.”
“What about a banana, or an apple, or any kind of fruit?”
“No.”
Suddenly, the lady sitting at the next table reached over and handed me two muesli bars, “Here, take these, my publisher is always making sure I have things to eat, and I’m not even gluten-free.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Take these, and good luck with your talk.”
It was quite some time later that I discovered that “the lady at the next table” was Shankari Chandran, Miles Franklin award-winning author of Chai Time at Cinnamon Gardens.
The bus trip was challenging. So many people talking at once. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, or perhaps they were better at talking to strangers than I was. I watched the view out the window, hoping I looked entranced by the scenery, and not awkwardly uncomfortable. The bus dropped us at the green room (which was actually a big, white tent). Loaded up with my goody bag, nametag, festival program, and a cup of herbal tea, I curled up in a comfortable chair to watch all the people who knew what they were doing.
I had been feeling anxious about meeting the chair for my session—Mandy Nolan, the comedian, writer, and politician. When she asked me how I was, I forgot that when neurotypical people ask that, you are supposed to say, “Fine thank you, and how are you?” Instead, I info-dumped about my chaotic morning and how I was actually feeling. Mandy not only listened and empathised, she said we should share that with the audience at my talk, so they had an insight into some of the barriers facing autistic people.
I had originally planned to do my session and then scurry back to my hotel room, because I knew how much it would drain my social energy. But then I looked at the program. How could I pass up the opportunity to hear from writers like Kate Morton and Grace Tame? By the time I got back to my hotel room, I was exhausted.
The plan was to head out to the “Author Drinks,” which I had RSVPed to when I thought Jeff was coming with me knowing that the networking part of these events is very important. But then the internal monologue started: “What if I get lost and can’t find the venue? What if I don’t recognise people that I should know? What do people talk about at these things?”
Instead, I opened the can of soup I bought at the Foodworks and put it in the microwave. Then I spent a pleasurable evening alternating between knitting, finishing the last few pages of Jacinta Parson’s A Question of Age (the third panellist for my session the next day), and feeling bad about my inability to interact with other humans.
Sunday
Feeling like a seasoned traveller, I followed the plan I had carefully mapped out the night before. I had a shower, dressed in the clothes I had laid out on the sofa, made a cup of tea, and called reception to send me a golf buggy. I ate breakfast and completed the check-out process with one eye on my watch. The instructions said to be on the bus by 8.45. I was at the bus stop at 8.42, phew!
I asked the lady standing with a jolly orange suitcase, “Are you waiting for the shuttle bus?”
“No, I’m waiting for my husband. The shuttle just left.”
That couldn’t be right. The schedule said 8.45, and it wasn’t quite at 8.43. I hoped she couldn’t hear me whispering to myself, “Don’t panic, you’ve got this,” over and over (my son taught me to do that in times of crisis).
Just as all hope seemed lost, I saw another shuttle across the carpark. I sprinted and leapt in, to the evident surprise of the driver, as words tumbled out of my mouth,
“Oh my goodness, what a relief, I was so worried, they said to be on the shuttle at 8.45, and it’s only 8.43, but that lady said it left, and I didn’t know when the next one would be, and I have a panel at 10.00, and what time are you leaving?”
When I finally stopped to take a breath, he said, “Yes, we did have a schedule, but most people weren’t following it, so now we are just doing a loop. We will leave in about 10 minutes if that’s ok?”
I nodded my assent and relaxed into the chair, marvelling at a world where people just randomly decide not to follow schedules.
When I arrived at the “greenroom,” I ran into Isy, Jacinta, and Courtney Miller (our session chair). Suddenly, I was happily chatting away with people I had never met. That might be partly because Isy, Jacinta, and I had exposed our souls in our books, so we had seen each other’s innermost thoughts, but I think it was also something about the natural empathy of the group.
Before I knew it, it was time to head to the airport for the trip home. This time I was ready! I had separated my possessions into two bags, one with my travel essentials (fidgets, knitting needles, crossword puzzles, hand sanitizer, hoodie) that was under the weight limit and one with everything else to go in the cargo hold.
I wasn’t prepared for the fact that the security staff at the screening point would insist on me taking off my Sunflower Lanyard and putting it in a tray. This meant that when I got in the screening machine and was thoroughly confused because the verbal instructions didn’t match the visual instructions, they assumed I was either obstinate or stupid and just needed them to repeat the instructions at increasingly louder volumes.
After that, the flight home was uneventful—and it was a huge relief to arrive in Melbourne and be greeted at the exit by the beaming smile of my son. I got home, cuddled my cat, had a cup of tea from my own cup, and slept for 14 hours.
So, what did I learn from the experience? I learnt travelling solo is not enjoyable (but I already knew that). I re-learnt that travelling is full of so many stressors for autistic people that could be avoided if non-autistic people—like airline staff and (some) hotel staff—were a bit more understanding and compassionate. I re-learnt that having access to clear and consistent information about what is going to happen is critical to making the experience accessible and enjoyable for autistic people.
The other thing I learnt is that the writing community is unusually supportive of autistic people. I went intending to observe a community but found one where I felt welcomed and accepted.
Sandra Thom-Jones (she/her) is an autistic author, academic, and advocate. She is the author of Growing in to Autism (Melbourne University Press, 2022; 2025), Autistics in Academia (Cambridge University Press, 2025), and Autistics at Work (MUP, 2025). Sandra also writes fiction short stories with autistic characters and is currently working on her first novel. In 2025, she won the Scarlet Stiletto Award for Short Crime Fiction, and in 2023, she won the Liz Navratil Award for best crime story with a disabled protagonist.
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