Lost in translation: 12 historic city names that vanished from maps

Many well-known cities have not always been called by their modern names. Medieval maps and documents often reflect older forms shaped by language, imperialism, and administrative change. This article presents 12 cities whose historical names differ from the ones used today, reflecting how urban identity can evolve over time.

European merchants from the 1500s onward commonly referred to this major southern Chinese port as Canton, a name that developed from the Portuguese pronunciation of Guangdong, the surrounding province. In contrast, medieval Chinese records and administrative documents consistently used Guangzhou to identify the city itself.

As foreign trade increased in later centuries, Canton remained the dominant term in Western maps and reports. During the 20th century, the Chinese government standardized Guangzhou as the official form, and international publications gradually adopted the modern name in line with updated geographic and linguistic guidelines.

On medieval maps, this Baltic port appears as Reval, a name associated with the surrounding region of Revala and used widely in German and Swedish documents. The local Estonian name Tallinn, often interpreted as meaning "Danish town," existed alongside Reval for many centuries but did not appear frequently in international references. After Estonia gained independence in 1918, the new government adopted Tallinn as the official name for state administration, mapping, and foreign correspondence, gradually phasing out the historical form Reval from everyday use.

In the 17th century, European traders adopted the name Bombay, derived from the earlier Portuguese form Bombaim, which was coined after Portugal arrived in the region. Medieval local settlements, however, used names connected to the goddess Mumbā Devī, and these forms gradually developed into Mumbai in regional languages.

The name Bombay remained common in English during the colonial period and well into the 20th century. In 1995, the Indian government formally adopted Mumbai as part of a broader effort to restore historical and regional place names and align official usage with long-established local terminology.

We now know it as Bratislava, but in medieval German and Central European sources, the capital of Slovakia appeared as Pressburg, a name widely used in administrative records and regional maps. Hungarian documents used Pozsony, while Slovak-speaking communities used earlier forms that later developed into Bratislava.

After the creation of Czechoslovakia in 1918, the new government selected Bratislava as the official name. This decision aligned the city’s identity with the Slovak language and standardized its use in state administration, cartography, and international communication.

English-language maps from the medieval and early modern periods often used the name Leghorn to refer to this port city on the west coast of Tuscany. This form, an anglicized version of the Italian Livorno, appeared in trade documents, port registries, and maritime charts produced in Britain and other Western European countries.

Within Italy, however, the name Livorno remained standard in official records and everyday use. As English cartographic practices modernized in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Leghorn was progressively replaced in atlases, government publications, and international references, leaving Livorno as the fully standardized name.

In 1930, the Republic of Turkey officially adopted the name Istanbul as part of nationwide language reforms that aimed to standardize geographic names. Yet, during the Middle Ages, European and Byzantine documents consistently used Constantinople, a name introduced in 330 CE when Emperor Constantine refounded the city as the capital of the Eastern Roman Empire.

The form Istanbul existed in local speech for many centuries, especially in Ottoman Turkish administrative and everyday use, but it remained secondary outside the region. It did not replace Constantinople in international publications, maps, and diplomatic records until the early 20th century, when the Turkish government applied the modern spelling in official communications.

Medieval Latin sources refer to this antique city spanning the Rhine River in western Germany as Colonia Agrippina, a designation used in administrative records and church documents. Over time, this Latin name shifted into Cologne in French and later in English.

Within the German-speaking world, however, Köln is the official name employed in government and municipal contexts. Cologne continues to be used internationally in English-language publications, reflecting the city’s long linguistic connection to its earlier Latin and French forms.

During Venetian rule, from the 13th to the 17th century, both the city and, at times, the entire island of Crete were commonly referred to as Candia in European maps, trade documents, and diplomatic correspondence. Local Greek populations, however, continued to use Heraklion (or Iraklio) in everyday speech and regional records. After Crete unified with the Kingdom of Greece in 1913, the Greek government adopted Heraklion as the official name. This change gradually replaced Candia in administrative documents, cartography, and international references.

European travelers adopted the name Peking based on older pronunciations of the city’s name that circulated in foreign accounts during the Yuan dynasty. These forms entered Western languages through early maps, missionary writings, and trade records.

Within China, however, the Ming dynasty formally established Beijing, meaning "Northern Capital", as the administrative name in 1403. The term remained through later dynasties and into the modern period. In the 20th century, the Chinese government standardized Beijing for international use, and over time, it replaced Peking in official English-language publications, atlases, and diplomatic documents.

To refer to the capital of Georgia, European and Russian documents from the medieval period through the 19th century commonly used Tiflis, a form that entered widespread use through administrative records, maps, and travel writing. Yet, the Georgian name Tbilisi existed throughout this time as the local designation.

In 1936, during a series of Soviet administrative and linguistic reforms, authorities formally adopted Tbilisi as the standardized name. After this change, Tiflis was gradually removed from official documents.

Founded as Edo in the medieval period, this ancient city grew from a fortified settlement into a major urban center under the Tokugawa shogunate beginning in the early 1600s. During this time, Edo became the seat of the shogun and developed one of the largest populations in the world.

When the Meiji Restoration transferred imperial authority to Edo in 1868, the new government renamed the city Tokyo, meaning "Eastern Capital." This decision recognized its new status as the national capital and marked the beginning of its role as the administrative and political center of modern Japan.

After a major fire in 1624, the capital of Norway, originally called Oslo, was rebuilt under King Christian IV and renamed Christiania as part of the reconstruction effort. The earlier name continued to appear in local usage and historical references during the following centuries. In 1925, however, the Norwegian government formally reinstated Oslo as the official name, restoring the designation used before the medieval period and aligning administrative records with long-standing local tradition.

The etymological twist: 10 common words that used to mean the opposite

Language is a moving target. What we consider a precise definition today is often just the latest stop on a centuries-long journey of semantic drift. A 17th-century scholar would likely be horrified by how we use words like sophisticated or anecdote. Etymology is like a fossil record of human behavior, class struggles, and cultural priorities. Here are 10 common words that have undergone radical transformations.

Before it was a badge of honor for Silicon Valley billionaires, a geek was a social pariah of the most literal kind. In the early 20th century, the term referred to a specific type of carnival performer, a side show "freak" whose primary act involved biting the heads off live chickens or snakes.

The word likely stems from the Low German geck, meaning "fool" or "simpleton". It wasn’t until the mid-20th century that the meaning drifted toward social awkwardness and, eventually, an obsessive devotion to technical or niche subjects. Today, the geek has moved from the dirt of the carnival floor to the top of the global economy, but the word’s gruesome origins remain a hidden layer of its history.

In a modern context, being sophisticated is an aspiration, it implies refinement, worldliness, and complexity. However, for most of its history, the word was pejorative. Derived from the Greek sophistēs (the Sophists, a group of philosophers often accused of using clever but fallacious reasoning), a sophisticated thing was something that had been corrupted or adulterated.

In the 1600s, you might have been accused of "sophisticating" wine by watering down or adding lead to sweeten it. To be sophisticated was to be "unnatural" or "adulterated". It wasn’t until the 19th century that the complexity of being sophisticated began to be viewed through a positive lens, evolving into the mark of high culture we recognize today.

We currently use the term handsome to describe a person, usually a man, with pleasing, symmetrical features. But the word’s roots are purely functional. In the late 14th century, a handsome object was simply something that was hand-some, meaning "easy to handle" or "handy".

Over time, the utility of an object became associated with its quality. If a tool was handsome, it was well-made and fit for its purpose. This led to the word describing things that were "generous" or "substantial" (for example, a "handsome reward"), and eventually, by the late 16th century, it settled into its current role as a physical descriptor for an attractive person.

An anecdote is now a brief, often amusing story about a real person or incident. But in its original Greek, anekdota, it literally meant "things unpublished".

The term gained fame through the 6th-century historian Procopius, who wrote a public history of the Emperor Justinian and his court. At the same time, he also wrote a "Secret History" filled with scandalous details that he didn’t dare release while the subjects were still alive. These unpublished secrets were the original anecdotes. The meaning eventually shifted from secrets to short, private narratives, and finally to the casual stories we share at parties today.

This word is currently the subject of a massive linguistic tug-of-war. Most people today use brutalize to mean "to treat someone in a brutal or violent way". However, its original 18th-century meaning was the exact opposite: "to become a brute" or "to make someone brutal".

The original logic was that the person committing the violence (or the person exposed to it) was being stripped of their humanity and turned into a beast. If you were brutalized by war, it didn’t mean you were hurt; it meant you had been made a savage by experience. While the modern "attacked violently" definition is now widely accepted, purists still argue that the word should describe the state of one’s character, not just the physical assault.

We think of nostalgia as a bittersweet, sentimental longing for the past. But in the 17th century, it was a terrifying medical diagnosis. Coined by a Swiss medical student, the term combined the Greek nostos (homecoming) and algos (pain).

It was considered a physical "disease of the imagination" that primarily affected soldiers fighting far from home. Symptoms included persistent melancholy, heart palpitations, and even death. It was treated as a literal sickness, sometimes cured by sending the soldier home, but occasionally met with more gruesome 17th-century medical interventions. Only in the 20th century did it soften into the purely emotional, non-lethal state we discuss today.

In the modern office, a backlog is a source of stress, a pile of unfinished tasks or orders. But in the 1600s, a backlog was a luxury. It was literally the "back log," the largest, thickest piece of wood placed at the back of the fireplace to reflect heat forward and keep the fire burning through the night.

Because it was so large, the backlog was the last thing to burn. Over time, the concept of something "kept in reserve" or "accumulated at the back" moved from the fireplace to the ledger book. By the 1880s, the "unburned" log had become the "unfinished" work.

To manipulate someone today carries a heavy connotation of deception or unfair control. Yet, the word began as a neutral, even positive, term for manual dexterity. Rooted in the Latin manus (hand), it originally meant "to treat or operate with the hands."

It was a term used by scientists and doctors to describe the skillful handling of tools or physical objects. It wasn't until the mid-19th century that the word jumped from the physical to the psychological, describing the skillful (but often dishonest) handling of people or information for one’s own advantage.

Long before it was a type of real estate, a condominium was a system of government. Coming from the Latin con- (together) and dominium (right of ownership), it referred to "joint sovereignty" over a territory by two or more states.

For instance, a piece of land ruled by both England and Egypt would be called a condominium. It wasn't until the 1960s that the term was co-opted by the American real estate market to describe a building where individuals own their units but share the common areas—a miniature, domestic version of "joint sovereignty."

Few words have tumbled as far down the social ladder as scavenger. In the Middle Ages, a scavager (from the Old French escauwer, "to inspect") was a respected customs official. Their job was to inspect imported goods and collect "scavage," a tax on foreign merchants.

As part of their duties, these officials often had to oversee the cleaning of the streets where the merchants set up shop. Eventually, the name for the official (scavager) was applied to the laborers who actually did the cleaning. From there, it became a general term for anyone who picked through trash, and finally, it was adopted by biology to describe animals that feed on carrion.