Casino Hotels, four of them

It starts with an island that the city made for itself. Île Notre-Dame was raised out of the river in fill and rock so that Montréal could hold a world's fair on it, and the pavilion left behind on that ground became the gaming house which now carries the island and the city together in one name.

The word itself is a pairing rather than a coinage. Notre-Dame is the ordinary French dedication carried by churches and streets across Québec, and here it names an artificial island rather than a parish. Published accounts describe the island as built for the fair; how its name was settled is not spelled out.

On the ground it is the island that people name first, and the building second. Locals speak of going out to Île Notre-Dame, and the rest follows. The pavilions, the water and the road circuit share the address, so the name belongs to a place.

Worth knowing before you write to them: the island is reached by bridge and metro.

Source opened · March 2028

It starts with a district on the bluff above the gorge, and with the thing that district was named for. The resort stands inside that neighbourhood and took the neighbourhood's word rather than inventing one, so the name arrives at the door already worn smooth by streets, addresses and a whole hillside of signs.

The word itself is two plain English words pressed together, a view folded into one label. Published material treats it as descriptive rather than commemorative, and no family stands behind it. Who first attached it to the district is not set out in any account we opened, and this is as far as the published record goes.

On the ground it is said as one word and used for the hill rather than the building. Drivers take it as a direction, residents as a neighbourhood, and visitors who ask for the name by itself are often pointed at the street first.

Worth knowing before you write to them: the theatre, the spa and the restaurants keep separate schedules.

Source opened · February 2028

It starts with the two things the site sits on. The Fraser reaches the sea here, and rock is the other half of the ground, so the resort was named for the river and the stone rather than for a person, a company or a view. The name describes the address before it describes the building.

The word itself is as literal as a name can be: a river, a rock, nothing hidden underneath. We have not found an official statement explaining the choice, so we describe the pairing and stop there. What the two words point at is clear enough from the ground, and this is as far as the published record goes.

On the ground it is shortened to the first word by people who live nearby, and used as a landmark for the whole stretch of waterfront. The concert hall pulls in an audience that never enters the rest of the building, which keeps the name in general circulation.

Worth knowing before you write to them: the show hall, restaurants and spa are booked separately.

Source opened · April 2028

It starts with the place. Rama is the name of the locality in which the resort stands, and it is also the name carried by the Chippewas of Rama First Nation, on whose lands the resort is located. The building takes the word from the place, and published sources describe it in exactly that order.

The word itself we do not translate, because no published source we opened offers a meaning we could stand behind, and guessing would be worse than saying nothing. What the record states plainly is the link between the community, the land and the name. The origin of the word is as far as the published record goes.

On the ground it is the community's word first and the resort's second, and that order matters to the people who use it. Visitors say the full name of the building; everyone else says the place. The concert hall keeps the word travelling far beyond the township.

Worth knowing before you write to them: the resort sits well outside the city and answers by department.

Source opened · March 2028