The Backpacker

My big (aquatic) adventure.
In Hvar, a small island off the coast of Croatia, we stayed in a homely hostel called the Green Lizard. In the evenings, the guests, and the hostel representatives (who had previously been guests), would gather at the outdoor dining area to play drinking games before moving on to the bars at the port. Sitting around the table, we learned of the boating opportunities that awaited us on the island and enlisted a few potential crew members in the process. In the morning, we headed to one of the numerous rental services in the centre of town, hungry for our first taste of the ocean.
Between the four of us, we rented a 50cc boat of ample size. With its fancy beige paint job, sturdy sunroof cover, seating area for four (just about), and a small nook to keep our makeshift cooler, the boat was a steal. For 50 Croatian kuna each, or the equivalent of £5.73, we were told, “take the boat wherever you want, as long as long as you bring it back by 7pm.”

One of our crew, an Australian we had met the night before, convinced the friendly rental man that he was an experienced sailor, and quickly took control of the engine. After nearly crashing into a boat full of petrified elderly folk, he revealed that he had been in a rubber ring once, and felt that qualified as “experienced”. Gathering our sea legs and what was left of our confidence, we stormed away from the jetty.

Taking “wherever you want” as a challenge, I pointed to the island that looked the furthest away and we headed in that direction. Sailing through the cool ocean breeze, we took it in turns to captain the ship, anchoring down where we saw fit to jump from the boat into the blue waters. Aside from the minor incident where I lost the snorkel we had borrowed from the hostel owner, the day went without a hitch. Climbing onto the shores of what we pretended were unexplored islands, we sunbathed on the rocks with ice cool beers, took pictures of us leaping from the boat, and without a care in the world listened to reggae music.
When it got to quarter-to-seven we were still sitting on the rocks. The sun was coming down and casting reflections on the side of the boat that we had now named, The Fellowship. Still feeling the rocking motion of the water, we simultaneously let out a sigh of satisfaction and begrudgingly began the journey back to port.

During my time backpacking through Europe, we met a great number of people who shared with us a wide of variety of sometimes contradictory opinions about travelling. However, walking back to the hostel after our sea expedition, I realised I had finally found the one piece of advice I would always pass on to every traveller I would meet. Always rent a boat.