“I will drop you off at the first beach I see; I need to take a sleep. It will be better for me and much better for you!”

File that under Things You Never Want to Hear Your Boat Captain Say After an Alcohol-Soaked Lunch on Your Island Excursion. Three friends and I were staying on the island of Hvar, Croatia, for a week, and we’d decided to depart from our daily beach-lunch-beach routine to take an excursion to nearby Vis, the furthest island in the Middle Dalmatian chain. Vis is known for its unspoiled landscapes, quaint towns, and excellent gourmet specialties, and there was a man in our tiny fishing village who ran day-long excursions there for less than $100 per person. It seemed too good to be true. Turns out, it was.

We arrived on the morning of our excursion to board a small day boat with a single inboard engine and enough seating to accommodate 4-5 people comfortably. We settled in and spent our morning on a 2-hour ride to the island of Ravnik, where we swam into a geological wonder called the Green Cave, and a subsequent hour-long ride to Biševo, where we visited the glowing Blue Cave, one of Croatia’s deservedly famous natural attractions. We reached Vis just in time for a late lunch and enjoyed a spread of Croatian specialties (anchovies, black risotto, squid) at a breezy restaurant near quiet Komiža harbor. The day was perfect…until our captain ordered an extra carafe of the house white just for himself. Half an hour later, we were sailing away from Vis, and our questions about the duration of the ride home were met with the aforementioned response.

True to his word, our captain dumped us off at the first beach he saw, a seaweed-strewn sliver of stones crowned by the open end of a drainage pipe. Concerned mostly that he reach a lesser state of inebriation before driving us home, we bit our tongues, spread out our towels, and made the most of it. And it was little more than half an hour later that he climbed out of his sleeping nook and summoned us back to the boat. We set off again, tired and ready to be back at our rented villa, sharing a bottle of wine and watching the sun set. But our captain had other things in mind.

After an unexpected detour to see another beach (though it was getting too dark and chilly to stay), we set off on the ride home. With the sun quickly disappearing, the chill evening air and ocean spray had us huddled against the cabin of the boat (inside was the captain’s seat, a radio that appeared to be going in and out of power, and a grungy-looking sleeping nook filled with pillows, blankets, and all manner of bottles…unfortunate that we hadn’t noticed it at the beginning of the trip). And by the time we had rounded the corner of Vis into the Vis Channel, it was completely dark, but the moon was bright enough to illuminate the 10-foot waves crashing along the ocean as far as the eye could see.

The captain shut off the engine and summoned one of my friends into the cabin as the waves thrust the boat back and forth, leaving us gripping the sides of the cabin to remain upright. Slowly, he restarted the engine and pushed forward, steering the boat through waves bigger than any I’d ever been close to in my life. The three of us watched walls of water rush toward us, only to feel our boat steer up and over them at the last minute, throwing us from one side of the boat to the other. My other friend sat in the cabin, helping our captain to navigate, lighting his cigarettes, and pouring him cups of Southern Comfort unearthed from the sleeping nook. (“He asked. Anything to keep him happy so he’d get us home,” he explained later. We agreed.) At one point, my friend took the wheel while our captain fumbled with a headlamp that wouldn’t stay mounted on the front of the boat…and whose power came from a cigarette lighter. And did I mention that it was only at this point that we realized that no one had seen lifejackets anywhere on the boat?

For the next four hours, I went from thinking wryly, “Of course this happens to us,” to thinking desperately, “Please let us make it home,” as I gripped the sides of the boat and squeezed my eyes closed. My only consolation: at one point, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the most dazzling display of stars I have ever seen. The constellations—even ones I’d never seen in real life before—competed for attention like a classroom of precocious honor students, each one eager to be called on first. Scorpio coiled around a cluster of neighboring stars; the big and little dippers sparkled on opposite sides of the sky; and Orion stretched regally overhead and behind us. It was truly unforgettable.

We arrived back in our village shaken, cold, and soaked, but happy to be back on firm ground. And as we shared a much-needed bottle of wine upon our return home, it occurred to me: this is travel. It’s the mishaps, the unexpected moments, and yes, the near-death experiences that truly shatter your comfort zone and define what it is that makes travel so essential to life. Of course, I’d had three glasses of wine by then, but I stand firm. And I'm grateful that I'm able to.