The five of us were still getting along after the long road trip from England, when we arrived in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer to meet our boat. We were 18, and quite confident that we could handle the 29” keelboat with only one Day Skipper and four novices.

We packed our dried spaghetti, tomato sauce and beer into the tiny galley, and claimed our sleeping spaces for the three-week trip aboard the ‘Harmattan’.

On day one, our skills, or lack thereof, were tested to the maximum as we outran the incoming mistral to make a safe harbour while it blew over. Happily, we found ourselves in pretty, untouristed La Ciotat. On our first night of cheap steak hâché and table wine by the carafe, we tested out our latest school French and settled quickly into the pleasant routine of marina life.

As soon as the weather allowed, we were keen to continue our journey, but were quickly waylaid by a perfect, unnamed cove that became our home for as long as we could stand the spaghetti.

Here was the sailing experience we’d been looking for, with red wine and poker on deck till the small hours, and where a morning shower was a dive off the bow into a sandy-bottomed turquoise bay.

We progressed slowly around the coast, enjoying every hill fort and fishing village that we saw. This was Provence, and vineyards and fields of lavender were visible from the water everywhere we sailed. At every stop, each seemingly more charming than the last, we were spoiled with fresh local produce; pungent cheeses, floury bread and sweet figs.

We stopped in Cassis for cassis, and in Bormes-les-Mimosas for mimosas! This area would be heaven for the laid-back gastronome - anyone who appreciates simple, rustic, good food and drink.

One less pleasant stop was at a small island, whose name should have given it away: L’ile Moustique. It was a muggy night, and the debate between hatches open with mosquitoes, or hatches closed with asphyxiation tested friendships already under strain from over 2 weeks in close proximity. In the end, no-one slept, and we were all bitten savagely, so only the mosquitoes won here.

At the end of our journey, we moored reluctantly in St Tropez. With only our shorts and deck shoes in which to ‘dress up’, we stepped gingerly into the supposedly glamorous town.

What a pleasant surprise is St Tropez! The town’s network of cobbled streets, filled with rustic galleries and tiny family-run restaurants, was such a contrast to my expectation of wide tree-lined boulevards and dress-coded bars. The beach at St Tropez was also beautiful, though the movie-star shades and headscarves were more in evidence there.

Just about still friends at the end of three weeks, we toasted our journey with a final carafe as the sun set a fierce red over St Tropez harbour. It was Mediterranean perfection.