What's in a place-name?

One of the problems a traveler has to deal with is place-names. Take, for example, that central Italian city we English speakers call Rome. Rome is a simple monosyllable place-name that sounds almost the same as the (real) Italian word: Roma. Roma is easily pronounceable in both languages. So why'd someone have to go and change this lovely place-name on all our maps to Rome?

The answer is: I haven't a clue. But then again, one could argue that any governing body has the right to put any label on a "foreign" place that its citizens can wrap their tongues around ...except that in these troubled times, names and self-determination are as intimately intertwined as US foreign policy is to oil. In case you don't agree (about names, not oil), witness this post:

As a born and bred resident of 'North Britain' (Scotland) I should be delighted if you could educate travelers intending to visit the 'United Kingdom,' that referring to it as 'England' is a most shocking affront to those of us who hail from Northern Ireland, Wales and Scotland.

There is nothing more sure to upset those of us who live in other areas of Britain (Pse. notice I have omitted the 'Great') than our 'Southern Appendage,' than to be addressed as 'English.' We are all proud of our distinctive heritage.

So, astute readers, you have been warned of the hackles you'll raise if you ever refer to Wales as part of England. England is a big, singular country. But it's not Scotland and it's not Wales and it's not the northern part of Ireland.

I am traveling to Britain's "Southern Appendage" this summer and hope I don't cause problems when speaking of the jigsaw puzzle of distinctive countries knotted together tenuously with the historic glue of convoluted place-names, especially ones using the word "United" in them.

Did I say convoluted? Well, yes, I did. Follow along carefully for a minute.

A guy from, say, Illinois walks into an Italian bar and orders a gelato. The bartender hands him a cone and asks where he's from because he has pronounced the word "nocciola" like someone from outer space with his tongue tied in a square knot. Bet you ten lire the guy says, "America."

There is also the fair chance that the bartender will reply something like, "Ah, America! I have a friend in Buenos Aires. Claudia Scarpone. Do you know her?"

This is where convoluted comes in. Italians will insist that the guy with the hazelnut ice cream identify his nationality as "stati unitense." But try saying that in English. "I'm United Statesian by birth" doesn't cut it. It's convoluted. So we lump ourselves in with a couple continents and hope no one notices. But, of course, they do.

(Of course, if you're from California you can just say that. No one will think you're from the baja part. Everyone will be able to pinpoint where you're from because they've seen lots of California on TV. They'll think you're rich, have access to many large-breasted women who hang out at the beach all day, and may try to overcharge you for the ice cream, but at least they'll know you inside and out. And they probably even know that many Californians don't really relish being United Statesian anyway and hope to disunite from the bigger and more slothful appendage and just might, if the next big earthquake hits hard enough.)

In any case, my theory is that the United Statesians have been lumpers so long that it's hard to quit. They hear the word "United" and immediately send their minds scurrying about looking for another word they can use in its place. UK=England. England will do for all of it.

So I'm telling you, noble traveler, not to make that connection. Don't say you're going to England when you're heading toward Scotland and Wales. Be a good world citizen and be sure of the distinctions in country names before you leave home.

But in return you UKans will have to cut us USinans some slack and admit it's hard to keep up with all the world's uniting and disuniting--and the changes in boundaries that go along with it. And remember, US schools can't afford geography books written after about 1912. We have more important fish to fry, evidently.

And hey, how come warships can go to the Persian Gulf but you can't buy a ticket to Persia? And do the French get to fish in the "English" channel?

Place-names, especially multiple ones that imply ownership, can really be confusing sometimes.

(Editor's Note: If you'd like to know all the particulars about how the Kingdom got United, see Jane Dickerson-Shinn's excellent article: How the United Kingdom Got United.

I'm outta here. Why not write me and tell me what European subject you'd like me to rant about next week?