Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings
– John Magee

I am a little closer towards becoming a superhero. I have always wanted the special power of being able to fly. And now I find myself soaring high above the Catalan countryside. I came to Spain on a whim to spend a week learning to paramotor. Now I am piloting my maiden solo flight. I think to myself: “wow! I am hundreds of metres above the ground. I am all alone. I am flying!” The past days of hard work learning to safely handle the canopy and engine have been repaid handsomely. It is an extraordinary sensation.

Paragliders are a fairly common sight these days, soaring silently around their hilltop launch points on still summer evenings. Paramotors are much rarer. To the uninitiated the sport resembles strapping a lawnmower engine and propeller to your back and using it to fly with a paragliding wing. It’s not far from the truth. Practitioners resemble a cross between James Bond and a cartoon character. The engine on your back generates your own thrust, allowing you to take off from flat ground.

The theory of paramotoring is simple. Raise the canopy above your head, fire up the propellers and then run forward to generate sufficent lift to take off. Once you’re in the air things are even easier: steer left and right with the wing, squeeze the throttle to climb higher, ease it off to glide slowly downwards.

The reality is a little more daunting at first. I had rehearsed the techniques over and over along with the four other people on our course. My instructors were confident that I was ready to fly. Now came the time to sprint across a field whilst controlling an enormous swathe of canvas above my head. Then I had to squeeze the engine up to full power and try to keep up with it until take off. You must not stop running before lift off or you will nose-dive face first into the runaway, damaging your pride, your body, and the paramotor. A row of broken, autographed propellers on the wall of the SkySchool’s hangar -the wall of shame- are almost all the result of people not running enough. A wise debut pilot will still be running wildly like Tinkerbell even as he rises high up from the ground. It is better to be safe than sorry.

After take off there is a great surge of relief and exhiliration. The hardest part is over. I am actually flying! The world recedes beneath me and, to my surprise, the fact that I am only held in the sky by a handful of thin lines and a tiny sheet of flimsy canvas does not frighten me. I slide back into the canvas seat and the weight of the engine is no longer cumbersome. I feel light as a feather and the Spanish countryside below me is so beautiful as I dance through the skies on laughter-silvered wings. I gaze down at wheat fields and pretty stone farms. The Mediterranean shines blue to the east and the foothills of the Pyrennees are still dotted with snow.

Life is simple in the sky. You are doing somthing you love. You do it to the very best of your ability for to lapse is not an option. Nothing else matters. There is no past and no future. You have slipped the surly bonds of Earth. You are living in the present, really living. It is incredibly relaxing. I look down at the mere mortals on the ground. They are looking up at me. In this first flight I have felt a hundred things they have not even dreamed of. I raise my hand and give them a wave. I feel like the king of the world.

Safely back down again we while away the hot afternoons as you would on a normal holiday to Spain. You can swim in the centre’s pool that looks so blue and tempting as you fly over it. Nearby is Figueres, the birthplace of Salvador Dali. A short drive away is the Garrotxa Volcanic Zone Natural Park. Or you can sunbathe on the beach at Empuriabrava, plucking up the nerve to do a skydive at the renowned centre there.

However, once I had done my first flight I did not want to do anything but fly. I kept an eager eye on the windsock waiting for the afternoon breezes to die down. The evening flights were undoubtedly the highlight of the week. I flew at three different locations: over a beach, from a secluded airstrip surrounded by forested hills, and from SkySchool’s own grass strip fringed with poppies and wheat fields. Each time I revelled in the variety of the whole flying experience. The take off requires calm thought, a burst of physical exertion, and a healthy dollop of nerve. The flight itself is a period of quiet, wonderful delight. And the adrenalin rush of a successful landing leads onto an excited glow at having flown, all by yourself. A buzz that lingers all evening as you sit with your course companions swapping tall tales on the patio outside SkySchool’s wooden cabin, drinking a glass or two of wine over dinner in the warm Spanish night. I sit back in my chair and listen to the sound of the chirping cicadas. I look up at the moon and the sky. I cannot believe that I have learned to fly in just one week’s holiday. I feel like superman.

I learned with Skyschool. They were great. 6 Day Beginners Course £745 : Designed for complete beginners, Paraglider pilots with less than 20 hours or Skydivers with less than 200 jumps. Students sit the first 6 days of the 12 day Foot Launched Microlight (FLM) syllabus. Training consists of ground handling practice, tandem trike flights, motor usage instruction, basic theory lectures and should culminate in at least one solo flight. The course fee includes all equipment hire and equipment insurance, instruction, fuel and transport on site. It does not include accommodation, transport to the site, food, drink or personal insurance. www.skyschooluk.com

RyanAir flies to Girona.