It was August 1989 and three travelling companions were set to invade France from the north-east of England to enjoy various shenanigans and other adventures as we travelled through France using our two week rail pass (although one of us was Interrailling so would head out into places such as Switzerland). We were basically The Three Musketeers.

It was my first attempt at travel photography abroad, bear in mind I got my first proper SLR camera in September 1985 for my 21st birthday, and by 1989 I had two Pentax camera bodies with a collection of lenses. Having said that, because I had to carry everything in a rucksack I was travelling light so the kit was minimal.

I have to admit I was hyper critical of the photographic results but I have to admit I do like this shot of Mont St Michel, above, which is reflected in the water on the sands which is quite pleasing. Having said that looking back through the shots there are a few that I think are examples of decent travel photography.

Looking back through my notes from the trip they were not that great but bear in mind that was before I had any formal training in both disciplines of journalism, both photographically and written reporting.

Basically we set out from South Shields on Friday, August 18, 1989, when we met up bleary eyed during the not so early hours to catch the coach service to London where we caught the Boat Train for France. Bizarrely one of my favourite bands, The Pogues, released a track by the same name and it felt quite resonant.

Let’s just say we basically roughed it during that trip at hostels and I had just been made redundant from my job as an adult trainer in IT skills and the pay off basically funded the trip. When we arrived in Paris at the Gare du Nord and we had breakfast at the station before checking into the hostel which notably had no curfew but it was very basic.

We met up with one of my friends who was on a placement in Paris at the time and we did the usual touristy bit of the city. The one thing that I noticed was that you tended to pay through the nose for drinks at the tourist hotspots so it was best to buy at the local supermarket.

I suppose I was quite pretentious when I decided to photograph Paris in black and white but I quite like it and at the time most newspapers were still printed in black and white.

We enjoyed a cheap night out at a restaurant called L’escapade which offered unlimited wine. But after two days in Paris we caught a train to Rennes and at the time I assessed the sandwiches as being extortionate and probably of the same vintage as the then British Rail.

Apparently the hostel was very nice and it was built with those with special needs in mind. Following a trip to St Malo was quick easy and we even visited St Malo. At Mont St Michel the bus journey guide spoke very quick French so we just looked in the right direction and laughed at the appropriate bits.

Mont St Michel was very touristy but worth a visit and it was very picturesque. We took the bus back to St Malo for lunch and we later dined at an unknown St Malo eaterie which was very good and they were very understanding when we dashed out to catch our train as they were a nice old couple.

We then travelled to La Rochelle which was a reasonably easy journey and went to the Ile de Re which was probably besieged during events outlined in the novel The Three Musketeers. There were lots of street entertainers and people wanting to flog you stuff.

During the trip to Agen we stopped off at Bordeaux and at the time I was not that impressed but having said that I felt that Agen was actually real France. The hostel was run by a nice couple and she was about 9 months pregnant. That night we enjoyed beer in English pub and the landlord asked us to order in English as his daughter is learning it. We later met Pascal and Jean-Pierre at the hostel.

We had a bus trip to Villeneurve-sur-Lot and wandered through the real France and enjoyed lunch by the river. We later wandered around the walled city with towers on roads, which looked as though they had been rebuilt at some stage.

It was in Agen that I dubiously enjoyed the delicacy that is ‘calfs’ brains’, and it took a big bottle of wine, and some beouf borginon which was the rest of the cow to follow to calm me down from the realisation of what I had just eaten.

We then headed to Nimes which was a good journey but we needed to check that the seats weren’t reserved as it can prove embarrassing. It was full of Roman ruins which were strewn across the town. As I recall we looked lost but we were rescued by two Finnish girls. Later we teamed up Lotte who was from Denmark.

Next it was Monte Carlo or bust and there were storm clouds gathering over southern France complete with rain, thunder, and lightening. Not what we were expecting so we sought refuge in the Monaco Yacht Club. Having said that we were told in no uncertain terms to move along after the clouds had cleared by what we assumed to be a Mafiosa geezer. He kindly advised us to move along.

Not exactly what I would call hospitality so we sheltered with two English women who were also Interailling for two months and we later found the famous casino. Having said that it was quite interesting to see the markings of the annual Grand Prix .

When we returned to Nimes the train delayed for two hours due to fire on the track so we had to climb over the wall as the hostel was locked. It was guarded by a big dog but fortunately it would lick you to death.

We caught the train from Nimes to Valence and I reckoned the TGV was just like the British 125 but it was better and ran on time. After a picnic in the park we had to catch train to Geneva for Grenoble. It was surrounded by the Alps. We caught Telepherique to La Bastille, a fort on the top of the hill where there were tunnels and caves and a long walk down.

We took the bus to Vizille where there was a chateau, gardens and a maze with a revolutionary museum. From Grenoble one of my travelling companions headed out to Geneva and we set off for Dijon which is the home of the mustard.

Having said that, once the buses stopped at 8pm we felt walking back through the town was like walking back very dodgy and not very nice at all.

The next day we caught the train for Paris and wandered around the city including Montmartre, Sacre Coure and Pigalle which makes soho look like a respectable neighbourhood.

During that time I was almost mugged, witnessed a game of boule, lost a T-shirt, got insulted, and rediscovered the T-shirt and ate in the Latin quarter. Bizarrely that was the same day my contract ended.

The following day we caught the Boat Train back to the UK which was basically no sleep ‘til England. Having said that we begged a mate for breakfast because we were basically skint before before catching the infamous Blue line coach service back to South Shields.