Nick was helping all day at the Route du Sud, starting at 7am. I’d spent Saturday afternoon cooking for the next week, and packing the campervan, (more later), and on Sunday morning walked with the club; the walk was followed by lunch under a huge gazebo on the roadside, so that we could cheer the cyclists as they passed en route to Nogaro. The biggest cheer was for a team Sky rider, on his own a couple of minutes behind the peloton. Perhaps the heat had got to him; it was far too hot for us, as the heatwave continued into its second week, with temperatures of 38-40°C in the shade.

Nick got home early evening, showered, changed and went off to the Pyrenees in the camper; he was about to embark on a week long introductory course in paragliding, his birthday present last year.

There were four men on the course; the first three days were spent learning about controlling the wing, launching it and the theory of landing, then practicing getting the wing airborne on nursery slopes. The days were long, starting at 8.30 or 9 each morning and continuing till 6pm. There was a lot to take in about the controls, safety measures, etc, and of course it was all in French. By the end of day 3, Nick was tired, bruised and not a little nervous about Thursday, his first actual flight.

I joined him on Wednesday evening, nicely in time to take some photos of the big event the following morning.

The weather was perfect; they went off up the mountain, all we at the landing site could do was watch and wait.

Nick was second off, gliding effortlessly (or so it appeared) over the treetops before landing inelegantly on his backside. The instructors at the launch and landing sites were in constant touch by radio with the students, giving directions and encouragement all the time.

I met three Frenchmen who were complaining that they’d been watching for three days now and were very disappointed that nobody had yet landed in the lake!

The course was in Val Louron, a beautiful setting in a peaceful valley, surrounded by mountains. There’s a spa nearby, so as they only flew in the mornings, when the thermals were best, I was able to go for a swim in the afternoon. It’s a great place, with Amerindian, Inca, Roman and Japanese baths; the Roman one includes an icy plunge pool, which I wouldn’t have ventured into had a friendly French woman not taken me under her wing and appointed herself my personal guide. The Japanese baths are interesting, a progression of pools at 33, 37 and 40°C; they are outdoors and must be fantastic in the winter, amidst snow covered mountains, the steam rising from the water’s surface. There’s also a musical pool, where, when you put your head under the water, you can listen to relaxing music.

Friday morning dawned grey; there was heavy low cloud on the surrounding hills, making it impossible to fly until about 11 o’clock. They were supposed to take off from higher up, then circle above the lake, before landing in the opposite direction to the previous day; but that wasn’t possible, they’d have to take the same route as the previous day.

Finally the cloud started to lift; Nick was first off this time, but visibility at the take off area was almost nil as he ran down the hillside to get airborne. He said it felt quite surreal, stepping out into nothingness, and was very relieved when he could pick out the swimming pool below.

This time he made a perfect landing, a good ending to the week.

Having taken all the photos I could, I set off for home in the camper; Nick was going to a bonsai club dinner that evening and wasn’t sure where he could park the camper in Mont de Marsan. I needed to be home in time to go to an open mic night in Marciac with friends.

It was 1am when we both got home, shattered, but having had a very memorable and enjoyable week. Now we really must get back to work on the house.