Oh, When the Saints Go Marching In… New Orleans!

I seem to have been having a lot of conversations recently about the apparently random variety of suffixes used in English to call people and their languages. For example, everyone knows that a person from New York is a “New Yorker”, and that, in English, both the people from Japan and their language are known as “Japanese”.

We have several endings to choose from. Here are some, a quickly-brainstormed-as-I-write list:
-er, - ian, -ese, -ean, -an, -s, -ic

The one you use is obviously based on grammatical explanations, such as whether the last letter of the word that you are adding the suffix to is a vowel or a consonant, and how many syllables are in the word. When you start wondering what people from there are called, though, it also seems to have a lot less to do with grammatical logic and a lot more to do with cultural evolution of the language. And of course any attempt at explanation does not account for the ever-expected exceptions, which ruin any attempts at applying patterns or rules; I'll use “Dutch” as an example, with no ending whatsoever, in fact an entirely different word from both “Holland” and “Netherlands”. Why do they not speak “Hollandic” or, as they do in Dutch, “Netherlands”?

Here’s another interesting example, which I recently argued against, and now concede that there’s something to it. As you are well aware, I come from Canada. I am called a “Canadian”. Why do I not come from “Canadia”? Or, why am I not a “Canadan”? People from America are called “American”. Not “Americian”.

I know what you are thinking. SHE’S an English teacher, you’d think she’d have an answer for it. True, I am, but I don’t. While I do know quite a lot about English literature and the English language, I have never claimed to know everything. And if I had to teach it or were asked about it in class, I’d head out to research an answer for whichever inquiring mind wanted to know. But I’m rather limited in the Jamboree at the moment as to research materials.

The reason for this verbose preamble is that I have a correction to make from a couple of posts ago, the one titled “Cold is a Matter of Perspective”.

It was me and Sabine’s first evening in New Orleans. We pulled into our campsite in town – yes there’s an RV lot IN New Orleans! I know, I was excited too – just in time for dinner. We wanted to hear live Jazz, of course, because that’s what one does in New Orleans, right? And, we were hungry. Luckily there was a restaurant in the French Quarter that served all the Cajun classics like Gumbo and Jambalaya AND featured a live jazz band every night. How unexpected, right?

Our campsite hooked us up with Mr. David, who became our personal driver for the remainder of our stay in New Orleans, and he kept us entertained for the whole drive into the famous old town and back and there and back again each time we needed to get around. The jazz and food that first night were both good, but there was more to it than that.

I noticed soon after we arrived an interesting, well-dressed, older man wandering around the place, talking to people, wearing an old-fashioned gentleman’s hat. If anyone had character, he had it. Sure enough, partway through our meal, he started singing with the band. And after the meal the family sitting next to us, who had already been helpful in recommending items from the menu, found the singer on Wikipedia on their handheld. Turns out, he’s quite a well-known New Orleans singer called “Uncle Lionel”. Here’s the Wikipedia link if you don’t believe me: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lionel_Batiste

As coincidence would have it, this family, the Langs, also had dinner reservations at Antoine’s, the famous and expensive restaurant of the French Quarter dating back to 1840, for the next night, also at 7:30. Originally from Michigan, when we met the Langs the following night at Antoine’s, after they’d had a chance to check out my blog, they advised me that people from Michigan don’t really like to be called “Michigonians”, as I had written in my blog. A better way to call someone from Michigan is a “Michigander”.

Who knew? Who could have ever even guessed that one? (Someone from Michigan, I suppose.) I like it!

The remainder of my time in New Orleans was spent pretty much as you would expect: eating Gumbo, walking around the French Quarter taking photos, and going to as much live jazz as possible. My favourite night was my last, at the Preservation Hall.

There's so much more to New Orleans than I mentioned here. I know you are all thinking "Katrina". As it was my first visit to the city, I feel somewhat unqualified to comment. But I did see a lot of areas that are still in need of a boost. Many people I talked to said the city just still isn’t yet back to where it was. Such a shame for one of the most unique and culturally interesting stops I’ve made so far in the States. I hope that it thrives on its reputation and excellent vibe and that they are able to rebuild the areas that are still really in need.

And so I end this blog post at the place where I began: I still haven’t figured out yet what you call someone from New Orleans. A “New Orleaner”? A “New Orleanean”? Or, simply, for better or for worse, with bags on their heads or decked out head to toe in gold and black pride, a “Saint”?

New Orleans

Alligators!

Yes, alligators. Watching us cycle along the 25 km cycle path through the northern part of the Everglades park in southern Florida. Menacingly. Knowingly. Patiently.

They littered the swamp. They lolled about in the grass along the cycle path. They even sunned themselves on the very pathway we were on (probably trying to warm up).

I've been told that alligators can move forward very quickly despite their size and apparent weight. But that they aren't very good at sideways. So the ones that lay parallel to the road, I marvelled over. Those whose tails met the path perpendicularly weren't overly worrisome – unless it was the one pictured above who didn't seem in too much of a hurry to get out of the way of us cyclists and who was perched just a little too close for comfort.

The ones facing the path, though, like this fat guy pictured here, staring at you. Eyes alert, bodies unnervingly still, teeth poking out everywhere. Ai, what an animal!

I learned from some of my new friends in Alabama, whom we met up with a few nights later along our drive westwards on the I-10, that alligators are simply not very adroit when it comes to quick sideways movements. This is why, apparently, if an alligator decides to chase you, you should run away in a zigzag. If you run zigzag, the alligator gets confused, can't change direction fast enough and will lose the chase; at worst he may run on forward but will carry on right past you if you are to either side of it, running in what can only be a ridiculous horizontal zigzag path in any opposite direction away from its nose. A handy tip.

Please do check out the album at the bottom of this post for more pictures of these amazing beasts (as well as for some evidence of the “cold” Miami from a couple of posts ago). And if you don't believe me when I write that the picture above captured the only time during this cycle among the 'gators in which I look somewhat alarmed, that indeed for the rest of the bike ride I was totally excited each and every time I glimpsed one of these exotic creatures just laying there watching us go about our business, ask Sabine: she was with me and she thought I was nuts for “ooing” and “aahing” and not “holy-shitting”.

This took place during our first day on the road when we left Miami. Always good to start out again with a bit of an adrenaline boost. We then took a couple of days to relax on the picturesque beaches of Sanibel Island, just outside Fort Myers, Fl. While it looks idyllic, it was still during that cold spell, and so our afternoon on the beach was spent facing the sun but wrapped up in jeans and sweaters. Still. Can't complain.

We ventured the long drive out of Florida through Tallahassee to Alabama where we met up with Nathan, the brother of a friend. He took us first out for a dinner of local oysters, and then to an authentic Alabama house party. We woke with slightly fuzzy heads the following morning but got out on our bikes as planned anyway, to check out some of the paths and scenery of Gulf Shores, Alabama, a community also touched by Katrina.

Travelling this part of the journey with Sabine was fun and entertaining, as expected. Fun, because she was great company in the Jamboree. Entertaining because of the things she'd say and ways she'd react to whatever we encountered. My favourite example from this trip was when we entered our Alabama campsite and upon reading the sign that read “Please do not feed or aggravate the alligators” Sabine exclaimed “I did NOT just read that! Jenny, I DID NOT JUST READ THAT!”. She was quite happy using the Jamboree's toilet that night rather than venturing out in the dark to the public washrooms. And upon leaving the next day, while I was a little disappointed not to have seen just one more alligator, she was quite visibly relieved.

PS: Here is a list of some of the guesses you readers made about what inspired the look on my face in the last post. I had a good laugh reading them, and hopefully you will too. Thanks to all who wrote! Keeps me happy knowing you're all out there with me. :)

What do you think might be causing this expression?
"A chimp is stealing your pants"
"You are warning the photographer that he is about to get mauled by a grizzly bear..."
"You forgot where you parked the van"
"You're going downhill and your brakes just broke and you swallowed a big bug"
"You caught a glimpse of yourself in your matching sunglasses and fleece!"
"You are in the wilderness and a woman appears through the bush wearing the EXACT same outfit you have on"
"You just biked 25kms in the wrong direction?"
"No bike seat?"
"You couldn't get an internet connection"
"A giant elephant on the road who looked remarkably like..."
"You are finally far away from a dirty ol' city like Amsterdam but have just stepped into a pile of dog poo, with your bare feet..."

Hah!

Miami-Alabama

A little interactive game...

How would you describe the look on my face here?
And,
What do you think might be causing this expression?

(PS: If you've already talked to me and KNOW what is going on here, please be a good sport and don't spoil it for everyone else. Everyone loves a bit of anticipation, right?)

Stay tuned... :)

“Cold” is a matter of perspective

“Cold” is defined by the random dictionary programme installed on my little netbook as “having a low temperature”. So, when the weather is “cold”, it has a “low temperature”. And when you feel “cold”, you feel a “low temperature”. Does that mean, though, that when you are “cold”, your temperature IS low? Hmm.

“Cold” has other connotations. Cold shoulder. Cold reception. Cold fish. To name but a few. But here, I write only of those connotations associated with temperature, in a time which turns out to be exuding a lot of warmth.

"Cold" is what urges you to swap your sandals for slippers. To layer. To want to cozy up and experiment with the principle of body heat. To sip hot tea. Or wine. By a fire.

"Cold” is the reason I drove south for the winter. "Cold" would burst the water pipes in the Jamboree. Its the reason why I meet more Canadians, New Yorkers, Michigonians, Massachussetites, and so many other northerners, in Florida in December than true Floridians. Because where we come from, its cold. And its rumoured to be significantly less so in Florida.

“Cold” is -40c. That was the temperature in Calgary the day I arrived in Cuba, according to my parents' text. Hard to imagine (but not to remember) in Cuba, where it absolutely was not cold.

“Cold” is what is blanketing pretty much the entire Northern Hemisphere right now, judging from the reports I'm getting on all the 24-hour American weather news channels.

“Cold” was venturing outside on my bike in Amsterdam a couple of weeks ago. Cold enough to freeze the canals. Cold enough to wear scarves and toques and gloves and hoping the bubbly would warm from inside while standing outside at midnight, dodging the fireworks of 2010. While cold enough, conditions just aren't "right" enough, according to the Dutch weather reporters, for the Eleven-City-Skate-Race, “Elevde Steden Tocht”. Because of too much snow, the ice won't form properly enough to support the skaters in the much-hoped-for winter skating event that only happens maybe once each decade, or less. If we are lucky enough and its cold enough.

“Cold” was even Miami last week. Everyone was bundled up in hats, and scarves and heavy winter coats. Everyone was talking about how cold it was outside. Everyone was doing what they could to stay warm, including fixing broken heaters and dancing until 4am. When I arrived back in Miami, I didn't believe Lily, even laughed out loud, when she texted me that it was cold out and that I didn't need to pick up my “summer” clothes. Her warm Miami blood must have forgotten what it felt like to really feel cold, I thought. But upon disembarking the plane and stepping out into the fresh Miami air myself, I quickly ducked into my backpack and hauled out a warm jacket. It WAS cold in Miami! The coldest its been there since 1977, apparently. 32F overnight (0c)! So much for Miami Heat, Miami Beach, and Miami Sunshine.

So. It was “cold” in Miami this week. Which means I didn't sit on a beach. But it certainly wasn't too cold to cycle. Nor to moonlight as a dog owner and take Jacky for a long walk, first to Starbucks, then to the local dog park, each morning. Nor to think about heading back out in the Jamboree again. “Cold” for Miami, for sure. But its still just not too cold down here on the bottom tip of Florida to camp. And, apparently – according to all those weather reports – its going to warm up this week anyway.

I have to admit, though. I do like the cold. And really, some perspective: it IS January, north of the equator.