I like nicknames for places. They conjure up an image, a memory, a yearning to visit and fall in love.
I don’t know the origin of each city’s nickname, but I do like them, and I use them regularly in conversation. For instance, I was recently at a cocktail party regaling everyone with a trip itinerary I “supposedly” took while recovering from a near-death experience:
I took a bite of the Big Apple before jetting off to the Windy City only to then blow over to the Big Easy for a few alcoholic hurricanes. Then it was Sin City where everything I did, legally and illegally, must stay there and never be spoken about. I then flew to the City of Brotherly Love for a quick layover (emphasis on lay) and then to Beantown for some Ragina’s Pizza and then a much-deserved respite on the Cod.
The Cod? It’s my nickname for Cape Cod… home of Falmouth, Brewster, Hyannis, Wellfleet, Provincetown and other small towns featuring shingle-clad cape cod cottages.
The first time I said it, I got a side-eye from my brother who quickly corrected me with, “It’s the Cape.” Now every chance I get I say the Cod. And every time he hears me, it’s the side-eye with a reminder that it’s the Cape.
In time, I’m certain I’ll break him down. He just needs to hear it often, and from others too, so he’ll suddenly wake up one morning and say, “Let’s take a trip to the Cod!”
As I tell my friends, “I always look forward to going to the Cod for a week to sunbathe, wade in the ocean, eat fried oysters, and suck on some saltwater taffy.”
I foresee the Cod catching on everywhere, even on the Cod. It will show up in travel books, on road signs, in storefronts, etched in souvenirs, and in the hearts of those who visit its wonderfulness.
My friends on the west coast already know where I mean when I reference the Cod.
Cape Cod… formerly the Cape… now the Cod.
If you’re fond of sand dunes and salty air… lobster stew and an ocean view… then you’re sure to fall in love with old quaint Cod…
Aah.
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