At the crossroads of the Limousin, Quercy, and Périgord regions in southwestern France, the opening of the weekly market is imminent. Merchants are ready to welcome the crowd in the chaos of the narrow streets. Higher, the monks are walking on the mountain trail to converge upon the pilgrimage church of Notre Dame. From the forgery, you can almost hear the hammering of the metal into armor. The buildings of Rocamadour rise in stages up the side of a cliff on the right bank of the Alzou, which here runs between rocky walls four hundred feet in height. Flights of steps ascend from the lower town to the churches, a group of massive buildings half-way up the cliff. Above the valley, Rocamadour’s castle lords over the town. Famous from the Middle Ages, Rocamadour has attracted all kind of pilgrims, including bishops, kings, and nobles from all over Europe. On the cliff, a broken sword said to be a fragment of Durandal is shining in the first ray of light. It’s one of the most beautiful French villages, something revealed to us at sunrise. From my privileged promontory, only the Leonardo da Vinci’s wing flying above my head and the dorsal appendage which propels me skyward bring me back to the future.

Hot air balloon and paramotor in front of Rocamadour, France

I was running out of time, but I was too eager to spend time flying with friends. In France’s southwestern corner at the crossroads of Limousin, Quercy, and Périgord, the scenic landscapes were idyllic for our aerial escapade. One warm afternoon, the team reunited in L’hospitalet facing Rocamadour. Like the Three Musketeers, we were actually four. Emilia Plak from Poland, Pascal Campbell-Jones, and Dean Eldridge, both from the crown of the United Kingdom joined me, a French expatriate. All three of them had participated in the last paramotor World Championship. The ease with which they could glide through the air, diving, looping and pirouetting was entertaining. With these talented pilots, I can come close to their wingtips, focusing on manipulating my digital camera with confidence rather than having the brake toggles in hands. To maximize our flying time, we slept on the private airfields, where we received a warm welcome.
From photographs, I knew of Rocamadour’s impressive illumination at night. The lights emphasize the unusual vertical organization of the city and the remarkable monuments. At the end of an already long flight, I had to see it, to see the jewel sparkling in the brightness of incandescent bulbs. Completely unconscious of the sun slipping away, I continued toward the medieval town. The spectacle which mesmerized me was even more enjoyable since it was darker. The cold temperature at twilight reminded me the distance I still needed to cover to fly back to the camp. I navigated in the darkness, but when the airstrip brightened up, a precaution of the owner, I smiled.

Close to Rocamadour, the walnut trees spread their leaves in the Dordogne Valley. Along the River, the myriad of castles standing at unlikely places, sometimes on an even keel, evoke memories of a bygone time. Following the Dordogne convolutions, we travelled deeper in time from Middle Ages to prehistoric period with several thousand year- old rock paintings. The most famous of them located in Lascaux cave are evidence of the humanity’s already fruitful imagination.

A journey can’t be completed without a taste of French gastronomic delights. Among the regional products are the Rocamadour, a small goat’s milk cheese, crunchy walnuts and derived, and the duck confit, meat candied in its own fat. A simple happiness probably strengthened by my living in the New World. After a picnic, while the heat invited us to rest, a paraglider high in the sky, shortly followed by more height, caught our attention. It didn’t take a long time to find the launching zone of Floirac to also take advantage of the lift and thermals. It also shows how good all-around gliders are modern reflex wings.

Above water seeds and the Dordogne River

One pleasant feature of this French region is the succession of different landscapes in short distance. Each day provides a new environment: the aridity of the causse (calcareous plateau) near Rocamadour, the verdant Dordogne Valley, and eventually the Valley open on the hilly Corrèze. The juxtaposition of bronze wheat, the emerald green of corn sprouts, the bright green meadows, the brown plowed fields, and the green forest of the trees gave birth to an eye-popping patchwork view from above. A striking red touch appeared in the landscape. The red limestone found in the region is extensively used for building constructions. One attraction of the region is Collonges-la-Rouge, Collonges the Red, which is worth a visit. All the buildings of the village are exclusively made from the red limestone. But from an aerial perspective, Meyssac for its castrum, small fortified place, and Turenne for its impressive towering castle are more attractive, casting your mind back to the days of dueling knights and cavalry tournaments.
This backdrop of history and scenery provided a perfect setting for photography. The goal was no longer to have a paramotor in the frame, but to go one step further to produce compelling images. To be at the right place at the right time is a challenge while you are constantly flying and moving. I had to work hard to get the image I could see in my mind’s eye onto a monitor, or better a magazine print. I like to see the light interacting with the paraglide surface, to see the crisp tissue and the tension of the cells, to set up my shutter speed to have a blurred propeller but not too much. Despite this rigorous plan, I needed to stay open-minded, to leave room for improvisation. Like when Emilia flew over water seeds in the stream of a river which gave a background from an unknown planet. We formed a closely-knit core team, and it was sometimes strange to fly close together while we were sharing the infinity of the sky. Without a doubt, among the enlightenments of the excursion were: the magical alignment of a paramotor, a hot air balloon, and Rocomadour’s pilgrimage church of Notre Dame, and my friends close to me with a divine sunset lighting the wings.

In Corrèze sky

We fired up our engines for a last time, surprised by what was an unexpected encounter to say the least. From the tree canopy, a small head emerged held up by an endless neck followed by a massive body. Jurassic Park came to life. We faced a Diplodocus, the biggest known dinosaur, the main sight of Lacave’s historical park. Were we lost in time? The metallic tune of the cylinder cooling down and the bluish exhaust chrome were evidence of our flight intensity. Our time machines were ready for more exploration.

Acknowledgments: Fresh Breeze, Parajet, Paramania, owners of the private airfield in Les Alix and Lagleygeolle.