Sailing in the British Virgin Islands. What could be more relaxing? I'd had visions of gliding languidly on mirror-smooth water from one picturesque spot to the next, sipping rum drinks or ice-cold beer as I delved into a good book or did a little creative writing on my laptop. How fitting that the vessel on which I would be whisked away was named Celebration of Life.

Instead, the first sea leg of our trip found me clinging miserably to the back of my seat, the wind whipping through my hair as the 42-foot catamaran rose up over each swell and slapped back down on the water with a stomach-turning thwack. Silently, I mourned the six novels in my luggage that would almost certainly go unread, the laptop that would go untouched, and the drinks that would go unconsumed in the week to come. If this was what sailing in the BVI was really like, so much for my relaxing vacation. I wouldn't be celebrating life, I was sure, until the next time I got to live it on dry land.

JORDANA BIEZE FOSTERMaureen relaxes aboard the Celebration of Life. But as it happened, the water that first day was unusually choppy; that it coincided with my first time on a sailboat was just bad luck. And, to be fair, none of the other eight people with whom I was traveling, including the two children, seemed to be at all fazed by the bumpy ride.

By the next morning, the seas were calmer, and, eventually, so was I. Though I never was able to stomach reading while the boat was actually moving, it turned out that there was plenty of time for that – along with snorkeling, sunning, and, yes, drinking – once we had moored. From the manta rays at the Bight on Norman Island to the sculpted rock formations at the Baths in Virgin Gorda to the deceptively creamy Painkillers we sampled at every beach bar along the way, each stop indeed offered ample cause for celebration.

The BVI, it turned out, is not a bad place to spend a few days.

EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

The rough going that first day did set the tone for the trip in one respect, which was to expect the unexpected. My husband Dan and I, both first-timers, tried to ask as many questions as possible before the trip, but some aspects of sailing are difficult to fully prepare for until you have actually experienced them yourself. And then there's the fact that a sailing vacation itself, apparently, is subject to change at any time.

Even before we left Nanny Cay, the marina where our charter company, Horizon, was based, we already had a change in plan. The Celebration of Life, a Lagoon 420 catamaran, has twin engines that can be used to power the boat when not under sail, and as the charter staff were doing their inspection they discovered a problem with one. We never learned exactly what the problem was, or why it took an entire afternoon to fix it – other than the fact that now we were on "island time." But no matter. Braxton and Andrina, our friends who had chartered yachts from the same company in the past, weren't worried. Sure enough, the engine was eventually pronounced fit, and Capt. Brax navigated us out of the marina and toward the Bight, where we would spend our first night.

When we reached the popular anchorage, however, we were confronted with another unexpected situation: because of our late start, by the time we arrived there were no available mooring sites in the main bay, so we ended up mooring around the corner in a much less sheltered area.

We had a similar experience later in the week, when we had planned to moor at Cane Garden Bay on Tortola but found no vacant mooring balls and no safe places to anchor. It was 5:30 p.m. at that point, and our agreement with Horizon required that we be moored or anchored by 6 p.m., so Braxton had to call the company and request clearance to go elsewhere. They directed us to Jost Van Dyke's Little Harbor, which proved to be more than hospitable.DAN FOSTERBraxton, who grew up sailing trimarans off the California coast, captained the Celebration of Life.

'GO WITH THE FLOW'

In their two previous trips to the same locations, Braxton and Andrina had never before run into these types of situations, so again, maybe it was just bad luck. To me, it seems like it would be useful to be able to reserve a mooring spot in advance, but I suppose that wouldn't be consistent with the "go with the flow" mentality of life in the islands.

Then again, we were probably a little too relaxed in taking inventory of the provisions we had ordered – discovering too late that several items were unaccounted for. This led to some menu improvisation and, ultimately, the "borrowing" of some salt and pepper shakers from the Cooper Island Beach Club Restaurant, where the special of the day was a fantastic Painkiller chicken (we left an extra-large tip as compensation).

The concept of provisioning is a little strange to begin with. There are six provisioning options that vary according to the number of dinners included (for all the nights of your trip, for half the nights, or none of them) and whether your tastes are "casual" or "gourmet." Oddly, though, all provisioning plans include a full slate of lunch ingredients. This made sense on our two "long sail" days but not so much on days we spent ashore, when we often preferred to sample local fare, like the mahi-mahi sandwich at Gertrude's Beach Bar in Jost Van Dyke's White Bay (right next door to the more famous and touristy Soggy Dollar Bar, which claims to have invented our good friend the Painkiller).DAN FOSTERAfter a rough start to the trip, the author eventually was able to relax, as seen here at The Baths on Virgin Gorda, BVI.

The provision dinner ingredients were kind of a mixed bag: beef kebabs were a disappointing medley of tough meat and soggy vegetables, but the t-bone steaks were surprisingly good. It was lucky that we'd brought some barbeque rubs with us, however, because none of the meats were seasoned (and, as mentioned earlier, our provisions lacked even salt or pepper).

Which brings us to the unexpected pleasures of cooking on board a boat. Experienced sailors know all about this, of course, and even us newbies had a sense that space would be limited, if not creativity. But this is one of those things you can't really appreciate until you've done it. It's not just that the kitchen space is small, it's that the space-saving layout simply cannot easily accommodate more than one person doing more than one thing. You can't access the sink without blocking both the stove and the trash, and you can't access the countertop without blocking access to the fridge below or the storage cabinets above. For breakfast, which we generally ate in shifts, this wasn't too much of an issue. But trying to make dinner for nine people to eat all at the same time proved to be quite a complicated maneuver.

MAINTAIN THE FLOW

Speaking of maneuvering in small spaces, no amount of advance warning can adequately prepare a first-time sailor for the phenomenon that is the marine toilet. I'm told that there are different types of marine toilets, some of which are virtually indistinguishable from a conventional flush toilet. Not in this case. Our marine toilets were flushed – directly into the ocean – using a hand pump reminiscent of the pull-start on a lawnmower. And apparently there's a limit to what this type of pumping can handle.

Before we left Nanny Cay, a gold-toothed local named Milton gave us detailed instructions in the use of the toilet, stating explicitly that we were to put nothing into the toilet bowl that we had not at some point consumed. Yes, he said, that means no toilet paper.

Each of the four cabins on our boat came with its own head, which I realize is something of a luxury in the sailing world. But that also meant that if any of the toilets became clogged, there would be no doubt about who was at fault. And a clogged toilet, Milton warned, would cost us $80 just for the unblocking, plus the cost of sending a service person out to wherever our boat happened to be at the time.

Still, when we read the instructions on the toilet itself, we found that the manufacturer's recommendation was to limit toilet paper use to 10 sheets or fewer at one time. This seemed more than reasonable, so Dan and I agreed to chance it, and we were in fact able to make it through the week without any service calls. It wasn't the last time we'd encounter this type of paperless plumbing policy, however; several beachfront bars and restaurants had signs imploring customers to deposit all paper in the trash rather than the toilet (as well as noting that "In the BVI, we only flush for Number 2.").JORDANA BIEZE FOSTERYasmin photographs her parents, Kokes and Weidan, at sunset off Cooper Island, BVI.

CLOSE QUARTERS

Of all the unexpected elements of a sailing vacation, perhaps the most crucial variable beside the weather – and the one perhaps more difficult to predict – is just how well a group of travelers will be able to coexist in very, very close quarters. The nine of us were by any definition a motley crew: besides Dan and myself, there was Braxton, Andrina and their one-and-a-half year old daughter Jolie; another couple, Kokes and Weidan, and their five-year-old daughter Yasmin; and one very brave single woman, Maureen.

In many ways, it was a flashback to living with college roommates in terms of differing levels of compatibility. Some of us were obsessed with whether the dishes had been done, others with whether the floors were clean, and others didn't much care one way or the other. Some of us were more open than others to sharing things like personal grocery items, towels or sunscreen. Games of Old Maid and songs about the wheels on the bus going round and round came more naturally to some of us than others.

At times it wasn't easy. But, while I don't think the nine of us will be sailing together again any time soon, I did enjoy getting to know my travel companions. And I was surprised to find, after we had all gone home, that I actually missed them.

In some ways, I even miss the sailing. Not the kitchen, or the toilet, or the seasickness or the unexpected changes in plans. I think it's pretty clear that I'm not a natural at this sort of thing. But I do agree there's something to be said for spending an entire afternoon out on the water with nothing – absolutely nothing – to do but gaze out at the horizon and feel the breeze on your face.

Celebration of life, indeed.