One of the biggest challenges I’ve had as a writer is separating proper English from Newfoundland English. I come from a province where the dialect is not only often entirely different from the rest of North America, but it also takes on different forms across the island. While my mother dropped her h’s from her speech (“’oly” instead of “holy”), my father living just 20 minutes away would not pronounce his th’s (“maff” instead of “math”).
In fact, we have our own dictionary. I’m not kidding.
There’s nothing wrong with this use of language, and I’m often surprised when others criticize the way we talk (Newfoundlanders included). Why should we be ashamed of individuality? Being from “the bay,” people automatically assume I should have a rough accent.
Mostly it’s disappeared over the years, but when my parents came to visit last summer, I slipped back into words and phrases I hadn’t used in awhile. My roommate couldn’t understand me.
So it’s my duty to school you all about Newfie-speak, in hopes of easing the transition should you ever make it here. We’ll begin with one of the most fundamental words in the language: b’y.
“B’y” (pronounced “bye”) is dynamic and complicated. Even the Newfoundland Dictionary doesn’t seem to know much about this word, but I’m certain it isn’t a warped version of “boy” as it applies to females too. My best guess is that it’s a shortened form of “buddy.”
You can toss this word into almost any conversation, but you have to do it right. There certainly cannot be any pauses, hints of uncertainty or improper emphasis.
Your best bet is to use it when speaking with friends and acquaintances, as “b’y” suggests amiable terms or at least an open, honest setting.
Here are some examples.
Disbelief, shock, dismay: “Go on b’y! You’re not serious?!” Sarcasm, ridicule, impatience: “Oh yes b’y, like I’d do something like that.” Happiness, endearment, excitement: “You knows I loves you b’y!”
You also can’t throw it into a normal conversation void of other Newfie words/attitude.
Not okay: “Excuse me b’y, could you please hand me that glass of expensive Merlot? I’d be ever so grateful.”
Fail.
The delivery is just as important as the word itself. Nobody should be able to tell that you are an outsider. One evening my roommate, while removing his coat, said something like, “It’s pretty cold out there tonight b’y.”
I looked up slowly from my laptop. The word just hung there in the air, fat and lazy and uncomfortable.
While the context of the sentence was fine, it lacked attitude. And he knew it.
The word should flow like music. For your homework, I’d like you to study the following musical example and use the word at least once in your conversation with a respected superior tomorrow.
There you have it, your first lesson in Newfoundlandia. I hope you’re all the wiser for it.
Now that my normal life has resumed itself due to the Olympics being over, I can stop crying over patriotic commercials and biting my nails because of gold medal stress.
So I figured it was time for another round of A Toast to Some Travellers, blue-eyed blonde shots version.
Not sure why these are called Blue-Eyed Blondes, but I'd rather not find out.
1. Meet Jeannie Mark of Nomadic Chick, a woman fleeing the corporate world in 2010 in favour of travelling and writing. She’s got a wicked-awesome sense of humour and she’s cute to boot. From her website:
Many travelogues emboldened my shaky will, but I couldn’t help noticing the scarcity of blogs devoted to someone like me, a single lady on the cusp of forty, ready to leave everything she’s known.
The signals I receive are:
“You’re crazy. And too old.”
“Don’t you have a mortgage, 2.5 children and a job you love??”
2. Next up is Sabina Lohr of Solo Female Traveler, a newbie to the travel blog world and she surely deserves your undivided attention. Sabina reached out to me many months ago through an email and we’ve been talking back and forth since then, and it’s rare to find someone with a heart of gold like hers. Plus she’s just a damned good writer; she’s got the kind of rhythm and flow in her writing that even Michael Jackson couldn’t capture through dance. I’m currently glued to her Jerusalem Jeweller saga, and you should be too.
3. Leigh McAdam of Hike Bike Travel is another amazing, experienced traveller who creates colourful, informative eGuides online…for free. Considering she’s been to 50 countries and everywhere possible in Canada, she knows her stuff. She’s also offered me a place to stay in British Columbia if the need ever arises, which she may come to regret when one day she finds me sprawled out on her couch with her cushions dripping in drool.
4. The final shout-out goes to Nick Rowlands of Delicious Chaos, another new blogger who is an expert on Egypt travel. He’s another one of those damned good writers that kinda make you seethe with jealously and violent rage. Just me? Well then. Whatever the case, I fell in love with his writing through the MatadorU Travel Writing Course, and I’ve been hooked ever since.
Cheers, my friends!
Some other random news:
I guest posted for the sassy Suzy Guese on Wednesday with a post titled How to Travel Like a Temperamental Ginger. I’d appreciate if you showed Suzy some love, seeing as how she was a doll to approach me in the first place. She’s a globetrotter through and through, with some sweet stories up her sleeves.
I made TravelPod’s Top 100 Travel Blogs for this week, can you bloody believe it? I had to sit down after I heard that one.
Received word today that my work is most likely sending me to France again for a few weeks. Who’s in Brittany? Let’s hang out.
I’ll get back to my regularly scheduled ridiculousness with the next entry, a post whereby I will teach you how to master the use of the Newfie word “b’y.” It’s complicated.
I’m a little ashamed to admit I’ve never really cared about the Olympics before. I never understood the hype or the significance of the event.
But this year with the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics, I did a complete 360 (190? I was never good with math. I think that one puts me in a corner). I have no idea what factors exactly caused me to attach myself to the television permanently, but I figure it’s a combination of being more connected with the travel world, writing for Matador Sports, and having Canada be the host country. The world feels a lot closer these days.
Considering I’m Canadian, it’s hard to be unbiased and I’m unsure how this year’s games compare to previous games. But there’s just something about the way Canada handled these games that set my soul on fire.
I’ve never seen anything like it. The raw, pure, absolutely overwhelming displays of patriotism and happiness. The red sweaters, the maple leaf paraphernalia, even the giant flying moose in the closing ceremony (god help the person who took the ceremony seriously).
And with the gold medal count steadily increasing within the past week, the fervour just exploded. It’s all anyone talked about. It’s like the entire country had been suppressing their national pride for decades, and then just decided to erupt all at once. I would have given up my firstborn to be in the middle of it all; I found it painful watching from the other side of the country.
There was the hockey. Some people think it’s all we care about, but come on, we have a right to care. It’s the same way America cares about football and Italy cares about soccer. So the women’s team took the gold and then there was the final USA vs Canada gold medal hockey game on Sunday night.
You could literally cut the tension in the air with a knife. Even watching the excitement build on Twitter was excruciating. I decided to head over to a coworker’s house to watch the event, rather than avoid the whole thing like I had previously intended. I figured I couldn’t miss out on history.
When Crosby scored the winning goal, it was like the entire country let out its breath in one collective roar. I was gobsmacked. People poured out into the streets, waving flags, screaming, partying. No doubt we’ll remember the event forever, it was exactly what Canada needed…a record-breaking number of gold medals and total domination of hockey.
Newfoundland and Labrador was strangely quiet. I walked home to find people talking about it from their cars, or kids playing street hockey. But George Street was vacant to the point of eeriness. All I could do was sit at home alone, watching everyone else soaking up the greatest display of Canadian patriotism in history and be envious.
The beer line-up at CTV's Newfoundland Day Olympic celebration. Seriously.
I’m so proud to be Canadian, to have witnessed Canadians express our uniqueness and our strength to the world with these games. And goddamn, everyone outside of Canada was amazing, so gracious and thankful. I only noticed one sore loser on Twitter after the hockey game, I figure in a sea of 700 Twitterers, that’s pretty good. I mean, how could you not feel at least a little happy for the sheer bliss on all the Canucks’ faces?
Growing up on an island, you lose any sense of borders. There are none. If you keep walking in any direction, you’ll fall off a cliff into an ocean. Our island has islands and our island’s islands have islands. You get used to being isolated. Like that Simon & Garfunkel song. An island never cries. [...]
