St. Martin
July 23rd, 2008 | |This year’s family vacation was a 5 day adventure on St. Maarten/St. Martin, the 87 k^2 Caribbean island split horizontally into sides governed by the French and Netherlands Antilles. We stayed on the French side in a condo on the water in Orient Bay, a location renown for it’s nudist resorts.
The place lives up to its reputation. Mother, hopeful for a McKellar Christmas card opportunity, tried to snap a shot of an octagenarian in nothing but sneakers and ankle socks power-walking along the beach as part of his early-morning routine while Father, predictably goofy, ogled the bodies and tried to engage them in conversation, eager to use his French on whoever would listen. Olivia and Max were horrified by the man thongs and topless grandmothers, but I think the exposure to body-positive cultures was good for them.
Literally within a half-hour of reaching the condo, Max’s hunter-gather instincts kicked in, with his sights set on fresh coconut. After volleying old coconuts at one ripe specimen hanging from the tree in our yard to knock it down, we husked it with a screwdriver and hammer (a non-trivial effort), froze the juice to make popsicles, and enjoyed the flesh while lounging in the backyard.
Most days were spent at a beach or perambulating along the streets of Marigot and Phillipsburg. Most nights were spent, well, at a beach, watching international news, or bonding over card games (I taught my siblings Sheepshead!) and guavaberry liquor.
The promised wireless proved fictitious, so addict that I am I had to get creative about how I was going to keep up with zephyr and work on my mad sploitz while on vacation. After surveying the area surrounding the condo, I determined that, somewhat bizarrely, the only password-free wireless was in about a 6×6x6 cube of connectivity obtained by perching on a brick wall framing the neighbor’s lawn. To get power I had to connect my power brick cable through an adapter to a multiple outlet strip I’d found hiding under Olivia’s bed to an extension cord scavenged from a downstairs lamp and plug that into an outlet near the front door of the neighbors 2 doors down. In an effort to bolster my C for 6.828 in the fall (and also because it’s just a lot of fun) I’ve been going through Hacking: The Art of Exploitation, which I stole from dvp and never returned. My PowerPC Mac doesn’t use x86 assembly so that made my self-education a bit of a challenge, but spawning a root shell using buffer overflows for the first time was quite satisfying.
MTV Hits was the only music channel on the television, so I caught up on my pop music and the endless supply of mediocre rap and dance tracks. Olivia and Max, always Keepin’ It Real (I am too white, both literally and figuratively, Olivia says), taught me the Soldja Boy (a dance), while I supplied music from my radio show for a number of spontaneous dance sessions.
Midway through the trip, maggied and I discovered that we were in fact both vacationing on the island! We met for lunch in Phillipsburg so she could experience the antics of the McKellar clan. She can now vouch for my parents’ happy-go-lucky and slightly senile ways.
I’m not much for relaxing (couldn’t you tell), so after day 5 I was happy to hop on a plane, a wee bit tanner, substantially more freckled, and eager to resume work the next day.
A few photos from the adventure can be seen here.











