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The gym

I searched long my gym. I wanted to go there at 6 o'clock 00, as in Montreal (where the streets and the rooms are empty. I'm an early riser. This is another point that I did not share with my little lioness with new claws that is not capable of assimilating an intellectual concept prior to consumption of its 14 coffees), but the Algerians are not early risers. In addition, schedules for most of the rooms are divided between male and female ranges.

Fortunately, I was able find me a small room barely aromatic Riadh El Feth, a huge complex built by the state (of course) that includes the monument of martyrs. Every evening (arg. I do not train in the evening, but I myself do) I'm 500 meters from my house to the complex and I cross a mall horribly empty (there was a bomb a few years ago and people there are more). I have to climb two floors and, on reaching the third, an oval in the ceiling gives a quite stunning monument illuminated. I was told that I should be proud that it was designed and built by Canadians nice. It's beautiful work. The

reason I mention my gym is that in the comments about cultural differences and that Algiers is first and foremost a Mediterranean city. Seeing the guys in the room, it feels fine.

First, I must say that the room is mixed and that men are (surprisingly) very respectful of the pretty ladies sportswear who attend the classes mixed. Nawel became a member after I told him about it and no man has touched in a way even vaguely macho (to his chagrin, I suppose: P). They participate in aerobics classes (of "fitness." Arg) and seem completely ridiculous dancing and jumping, but it is a good exercise and no one makes fun of them.

By cons, in the weight room, you can see we are located on the Old Sea Basin. Of all the men who play with dumbbells, there is NO ONE who does not charge beyond 30% capacity and will then cry out in a manner scarcely men (as we face the Williams sisters and is thought to demonstrate virility?) wringing his lumbar vertebrae in order to complete the exercises. They are also at a speed whereby the targeted muscles do not receive any benefit (if you release a weight between rehearsals an uncontrolled manner, work may be the force of gravity of our planet, but it does not work any muscle).

When I got to the room six weeks ago, I had just driven past seven months. I do this, however, since the age of 15 years (it's been nearly 21 years. * Sniff * Chu old), so I know my body and vaguely, more importantly, I took courses in anatomy of the year when I played football. I was using small weights at the beginning to awaken my muscles were screaming and asking who was this portly Canadian who can barely lift a load of female class.

... now I lift more weight than almost all the "guys", with good technique. They are surprised. That's because I work my muscles while they are breaking their backs.

I still have fun with them (at least they do not spit on the floor) and I shut the hell up (something that is not easy when you have a guy who resembles a portly accountant 42 years later of course, that puts the full weight of the machine pull-down and screaming like a madman and, subsequently, gives advice to a young man who has just begun. Shut up Eric). The owner is super fun and nice. It does not bother me too much (partly because it is a group friends tight enough and partly because when I train, I have my earphones in your ears, listen to violent music, I'm in my world and it shows), which is a change popular perpetual "okay?" agreed to work.

M'entéka, they remind me of these people of Mediterranean origin in Montreal (they were acknowledged by the inventory of a jewelry they wore while training) doing the same thing in our gyms. There the "normal people" are at least majority and girls do not care about their mouths (they generally apply the nickname "Ginos). 'I guess the Ginos just somewhere. I was in their hive.

Formal Letter Housing

Samia

I go to a strange beast.

Non-practitioner, she works in a company that imports of alcohol and brews beer and has a mind just as corrupt as mine (even more). Here are some points that were raised in less than seven hours together that afternoon

- She listens to a lot of television. She can call me all sorts of Quebec and Canadian television series which I've never heard of. You see, I listen to ANY television (besides my football and the season is now complete). I spent 13,500 dinars (about $ 250) for a satellite map that will only pirated give something to do with Samia when I shower. Vlan.

... unfortunately, she can not sleep without hearing the TV. Well, the few nights we spent together the happiness did not have electronic approval (there was my computer, but I do without mentioning the context), but someday it will need its digital companion. I do not already know how I'd do, know that there are emissions tasteless in my den. I imagine that wearing headphones and I'll read until I sleep.

- Samia I told the family name of my mom: Ouimet. It is a name most banal in Quebec and I've always preferred to mine (without wanting to reveal my name, just say he is aggressive in the ear in his English home - my dad had English Canada - but is perfectly pronounceable in French (even less in Algeria).

... heard the name, she collapsed into laughter. I was afraid she makes pee on the duvet. "Yes but ...», she said.

I watched without really understanding. It must be said that his last name is fun to hear and means foodstuff in Arabic. It would be like if a guy named Hamid was in Quebec and another named Spatula made fun of his mouth.

Hamid: "Hi, my name is Hamid.
Spatula "MOUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!».
... I do not see the comedy. Indeed, one can make a sentence with the mundane name, but since this is common, we do not think my home too. In short, it will be fun for family reunions. My mother comes from a family of twelve children of proven fertility. She goes to meet Ouimet!

- The subject arose because we had a shock Cultural most amazing. In Quebec, it was agreed that women are equal to men in every sense. It is completely strange idea that a woman would become the slave and the property of his rights during the marriage. Quebec women keep their names and thus households are built between equals. There was a fad during the '70s to give names to small compounds, but it did not last very long (because it sounded pretty ridiculous), and use the children keep the father's name , although the state grants the right to name one wants because it is assumed that parents have greater authority over the allocation name their child an official ugly and stinky and sexually frustrated.

Samia was violated. "This is a feminist in the extreme!" She said, verbatim. We must make clear to readers that my Algerian friend is a woman of strong character and is independent and West. To hear him say it categorically RE-FUSE to keep his name was equivalent to my little Quebecois me to see a tiger in the Indonesian jungle jump into a cage and beg that imprisons him in a zoo.

Well, it happens, but I have no way of escaping me. If she joins me in Canada we must marry in Algeria. It will be OFFICIALLY Mrs. Eric and his Canadian papers will reflect that. It will be strange when I have to show it to friends.

- Samia's mother suspects that she is no longer a virgin. It's a bit like the mother of a sumo wrestler suspects that his son is not vegetarian.

- Samia loves naked male torsos. Should not have been that I have my beard trimmer in the bathroom: $. Well, I have to wash the sheets the middle room tomorrow to remove my coat body above them. I look like a wolf who has lost his hair in winter, but it's still cold!

... my Lioness is mééééchante.