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