After eating in the park and watching some locals play that game with the steel ball, we walked leisurely around Voiron before heading to Pascal's (since he said he would be busy in the morning). Our first stop was, of course, the local cathedral, which, though smaller than most of the `greats' we'd seen or were about to see on our trip, had the best brochures. `Petit' guides for St. Bruno's were available in a great many languages, as unusual as Cantonese and Turkish, I think. We also found it nice that they had music playing at all times...though it was recorded, it was very effective to hear the soothing sounds of choral voices warming those stone walls.

When we arrived at to Pascal's, Doug roaring while showing me his "Gros Dégueulasse" book[96] as Pascal mysteriously remained on the phone. When he was done, Pascal asked if we could go over to his friend Martine's place for lunch. We agreed, so the three of us took off to pick up lunch; when the line was very long at the restaurant he was getting take-out from, Pascal decided to go next door to the supermarket instead. When he said he was thinking about making pasta, Doug and I brainstormed and exclaimed that we would love to cook for them all[97]. So with our tiny, child-sized cart[98] we picked up some ravioli-type pasta, tomato paste[99], cheese[100], an onion, garlic, baguette, and wine--all for about the same cost as one meal at a European McDonald's--and headed out to Martine's.

We walked in the door and I was introduced to Martine, her housemaid/nurse and her 8-or-so-year-old daughter. The little girl was just leaving when we arrived, so she was coerced into kissing my cheek. When she kissed only one cheek and not the other, she was scolded. What an unusual custom. Anyway, the housemaid let us use `her' kitchen, showing us where everything was that we'd need to cook lunch....except the spices! There were none! What kind of French kitchen was this? We hadn't bought any spices, assuming that she'd at least have a few, but she had nothing but salt, so we relied heavily on the onion, garlic, and wine to awaken the taste of the very odd tomato tube. Doug burned his hand, I overboiled the water--it seemed that making lunch was going to take a long time at this rate.

Martine sat in the dining room with Pascal while we prepared lunch in the kitchen. She has a condition where she has extremely limited muscle movement and can't move much more than the tips of her fingers and the muscles in her face; this also makes it impossible for her to really vocalize, so her voice is raspy, a lot like a whisper. When we were finally done preparing the food, we emerged from the kitchen to join our friends.

After lunch was finally on the table, Pascal remarked that it was ironic that Americans should be cooking for French. Everybody seemed to like it, even though it didn't really resemble Doug's wonderful Italian cooking that he makes at home. The longer we stayed and the more we all talked, the more I was able to understand Martine's voice, and I discovered what a warm and fun person Martine was. Though she spoke no English, after a while I was able to comprehend what she was communicating through her very subtle mannerisms and by the context of the conversation. Doug would say "What did she say?" and both Pascal and I would turn to Doug and explain it. "But I don't speak any French...except for the words `dégueulasse' and `merde'," I told her, and the two words in that sentence she understood made her snicker. Next thing we knew, the conversation had taken a abrupt turn into 5-year-old humor. Burps, farts, caa-caa...not the typical topics of conversation you'd expect at a French house, is it? But the worst was the `surprise' aperitif she had me pull out: it was a snake...and I mean a real snake...that had been in a bottle of amber liquid for the last 18 years. I, of course, declined, but Doug and Pascal both braved it, and I have a photo journal of my husband's reaction. It wasn't good.

Nous y arrivons: Musée Hector Berlioz!

After we had surveyed everything on the upper floors, we joined Pascal, who then reported everything he had learned about Berlioz on the mural, which meant everything he learned about Berlioz ever. And he calls himself a Frenchman! Then we went back upstairs and spoke with the woman (I only listened of course) and bought many of her neat souvenirs--a Berlioz scarf, a copy of the last of Berlioz' memoirs, and even a sticker saying the equivalent of "Berlioz fan club" in French. We also admired how she had kept an old, out-of-circulation 10F bill which had Berlioz on it. We'd have to go to a bank and see if there were any more like that.

We took the rest of the evening rather leisurely. When Pascal asked what we wanted to do for dinner, Doug answered "something at home" and I answered "beef!" So Pascal went to the only butcher he knew personally[103] and I think he paid $20 (ouch) for the biggest hunk of meat I'd ever seen, and we went to the neighborhood stores for other `side dishes.' We got another one of those monster carrots, some more wine for the men, and to the bakery we had gone to that morning for three more delectable desserts. Though Pascal didn't care much for sweets, he verified that we had intuitively discovered what most people call the best boulangerie in Voiron.

When we got back to Pascal's place, Pascal had to lie down for a while to rest from such a tiring day, but that was not a problem, because it allowed us to relax and settle into the private life of Pascal Mallet, too. As Doug leafed through Gros Dégueulasse again, I read the Beavis and Butthead graphic novel we had brought Pascal from the US. I am embarrassed to admit that I was so engrossed in it that I hardly noticed when Pascal and Doug disappeared to the kitchen to fix dinner. Though Doug had to remind him that we Americans like cooked meat, Pascal prepared it with wonderful French herbs. We quietly chatted about life and politics, Pascal expressing his dissatisfaction towards the government in his country[104] and how he writes his representative and even contributes money to causes he believed in. also gave us a glimpse into the life of the French in general. That's something a tourist rarely gets to do. I hope he enjoyed our visit as much as we did!