Rum, Roti, and Radio

It's 0455 UTC—2055 at home in California—circa 1983. Deutsche Welle's English-language broadcast to the West Coast of North America begins at the top of the hour, but the interval signal has already begun. The drum-style frequency readout on my Radio Shack DX-100 is neither accurate nor precise; searching the band for the interval signal before the broadcast begins is the best way to ensure that I don't miss anything. The signal sounds pretty good on 9545 kHz. I check 6145 kHz to find the signal is not quite as good and quickly re-tune the 31-meter frequency. No matter what happens to the band over the next fifty minutes, I'm committed. Years later the keypunch tuning on my Sony ICF-2010 would give me considerably more flexibility in finding my favorite broadcaster and switching frequencies to find the best signal, but we ain't there yet. The next few minutes are spent listening to the first couple bars of Beethoven's Fidelio overture again and again. Fifteen seconds before the top of the hour the interval signal plays for the penultimate time, followed by the announcement, "This is Radio Deutsche Welle, Caribbean relay station,"¹ before the interval signal plays one last time followed by the time-and-frequency announcement.

In a way, it feels like cheating. I'm not tuning in West Germany on shortwave; I'm tuning in Antigua. Nevertheless, that's still a good 5800 kilometers away, something unheard of with domestic AM or FM broadcasts. Really, it was two DX sources for the price of one. While listening to the broadcast I could simultaneously picture European cities with their narrow streets and timber-frame buildings, and the Caribbean with palm trees swaying in the trade winds.

To me, this has always been a big part of the value proposition of DXing, whether as an SWL or as a ham. Nobody's travel budget is unlimited, and some are more modest than others. A DXer gets the opportunity to become an armchair traveller, radio waves covering distances that time and money won't let the DXer cover physically. Still, it's sometimes fun to travel those distances for oneself, to convert an over-the-air abstraction into an experienced reality. 

Even better yet is the opportunity to operate a radio station from a faraway place, to give other DXers the opportunity to vicariously experience someplace they've never been, to be the DX. In February of 2026, we took a family holiday to Barbados. The trip was timed to coincide with the ARRL International DX CW Contest, in which I operated as 8P9SR. The contest was the centerpiece of the trip, but we took the time to experience the island in as much of its totality as one week would allow. It was a week of rum, roti, and radio.

Rum

Rum punch—a concoction of rum, lime juice, bitters, and nutmeg—is ubiquitous in Barbados. There's even a guy who sells bottled rum punch out of his van, traveling the island to make deliveries. Some are more nutmeg-forward. Some introduce other fruit juices for a more fruit-forward flavor and a more colorful glass. Each one is different and they're all delicious in their own way.

The rum distillation industry is a side effect of Barbados's long history as a sugar producer. Prior to the nineteenth century, sugar production in Barbados and the rest of the West Indies was built on slave labor. Museums and historic sites all over the island interpret this shameful chapter of history. One such site is the George Washington House in Bridgetown, the island's capital and largest city. In 1751, nineteen year old George Washington accompanied his brother, who was suffering from tuberculosis, to the big city of Bridgetown, where access to medical care was better than what was available in the American colonies. The house where the two young Washington men stayed is now a museum.

Rum isn't the only beverage on the island. On the morning after our flight got in, I hopped in the rental car and drove twenty minutes (on the left!) to the Wyndhams coffee roastery. As a coffee geek, I can certify that Wyndhams is the real deal. Not just a good coffee roaster considering its location in a small island nation, but a coffee roaster who can confidently stand with the best that Europe and North America have to offer. While visiting the roastery I had a chance meeting with co-owner Dominic Wyndham-Gittens. Dominic turned out to be a very personable and outgoing guy. We geeked out on coffee for a bit while he pulled an espresso shot for me. He gave me some pointers on sights to see and expressed genuine curiosity about my plans to operate amateur radio from Barbados.

The coffee roaster was a serendipitous find, but what would a Commonwealth country be without tea? There are places all over Barbados to take afternoon tea, some with stunning views of the sea. We took a journey about a half hour's drive past Bridgetown to the posh seaside resort of Sandy Lane, where we enjoyed our tea with small cakes and finger sandwiches, including an exquisite cold-smoked salmon.

Roti

Before moving on to roti, I should point out that flying fish is the national dish of Barbados. The Oistins Fish Market, an open-air marketplace where small restauranteurs set up stalls serving flying fish and other seafood, is a delightful place to get a plate of flying fish while speakers blare out reggae music. Flying fish is usually served fried and fried fish of all different species are to be found in restaurants throughout the island, typically using a batter that is considerably lighter than a traditional English fish and chips.

Like just about any other former British colony, the influence of Indian cuisine can be found in local eateries. Roti, a thin, flexible flatbread, is a popular dish in Barbados, usually served with a meat-and-potato curry. Most often the curry is wrapped in the flatbread, a bit like a burrito, but Shanti's Rum and Roti in Bridgetown serves it deconstructed. 

Besides fish and roti, a variety of burgers, chicken, and meat dishes can be found on the island. As a culinary destination, Barbados rarely makes anyone's short list, but my impression is that everything is perfectly seasoned and delicious. 

Radio

Just over 300 meters from the approach end of Runway 9 at Grantley Adams International Airport, Highway U runs parallel to the airport fence, perpendicular to the runway. Across the street from the airport is a large, open field. In the afternoon (the busiest arrival and departure time period for the airport) a dozen or so cars park in the field, as islanders indulge in a bit of plane spotting. It was an indulgence I couldn't miss out on, so one day I joined the assembled group of av geeks with my Yaesu FT-70D tuned to the tower frequency of 118.7 MHz. The field doesn't have quite the extreme vibe of Maho Beach on Sint Maarten, but there's an unobstructed view of Runway 9 and a chance to get up close and personal with the arrivals. After watching a few arrivals and departures, one of the local plane spotters who introduced himself as Rashad approached me and asked where I got the radio. I sheepishly replied that I got it from Ham Radio Outlet in California, not much help, but I added that he might want to look on Amazon for a Uniden scanner capable of receiving the VHF air band from 108 to 137 MHz. 

"What got you interested in aviation?" he asked me.

"Mostly it was my grandfather. He owned a Cessna 210 and I used to fly around with him quite a bit when I was a boy. How about you?"

"I just think aircraft are beautiful."

"Well," I said, "there are two kinds of people in the world: those who look up when they hear an airplane and those who don't." We both laughed and parted ways after listening to and watching one last arrival. I hope he gets that scanner.

On the amateur radio side, I spent the week leading up to the contest making ad hoc contacts on SSB, CW, and FT8 from the vacation rental during those times that we weren't busy sightseeing. Before my arrival, I had been introduced to Ishmael (8P6PE) by our mutual acquaintance Chris (WA7RAR 8P9CB). Ishmael briefly stopped by our vacation rental on our second night there and later, by pure happenstance and dumb luck, I worked him while he was activating Chancery Lane Swamp National Park, BB-0012. Meeting Ishmael, Rashad, and Dominic (the coffee guy) confirmed what everyone had told me prior to leaving for Barbados: the people are unbelievably friendly and welcoming. This is no small thing. I've visited plenty of tourist destinations where there is a certain amount of built-in tension between locals and visitors. Hell, I live in a place where there is a certain amount of built-in tension between locals and visitors. It was refreshing and reassuring to find myself and my family in a place where we felt like we could make ourselves at home.

My operating position at the vacation rental was a picnic table in the expansive garden behind the house, situated on a cliff overlooking Gatorade-blue waters where each morning kite surfers would beam reach over the waves. As I called CQ or hunted for POTA activators, palm trees at the garden's edge literally swayed in the trade winds, exactly as I had pictured more than forty years ago while listening to Deutsche Welle, BBC World Service, and Radio Netherlands over their Caribbean relays. 

I also brought FM satellite gear. Satellite work at the far southeastern corner of the Caribbean was slow, but ultimately there were a few successes as I made island-to-island contacts with CO2ESP in Havana on SO-50 and ARISS, and with KP4PR in Puerto Rico on ARISS.

Contest day arrived and I was ready to go. Well, almost ready. Midnight UTC was 2000 Friday night in Barbados. Friday was the day of our tea north of Bridgetown. By the time we got back to the vacation rental, I and the rest of the family were much more in the mood for a rum punch and a dip in the pool than for radio. Saturday morning I said goodbye to the family who were headed up to the far north end of the island to visit an historic mansion and rum distillery. I set up my Kenwood TS-590SG and my 17' Chameleon telescoping whip antenna, tuned up, and started hunting for Stateside big gun stations. Getting through the pileups proved to be more challenging than I thought it would be. At 100 watts in the Caribbean, with the US and Canadian stations all pointing their beams at Europe, I just couldn't compete with the European kilowatt stations. Running wasn't going much better for pretty much the same reason: I wasn't lighting up anybody's spectrum analyzer the way the European big guns would. An hour in, I had logged fewer than a dozen contacts. Two hours in, I was seriously questioning what I had gotten myself into. I was having so much fun earlier in the week just making contacts for the hell of it. Maybe I had put too much stock in this contest. Maybe I should have gone rum tasting with the rest of the family. Maybe next year I need to convince some French contest club that what they really need is a guy with callouses on his fingers from pounding a straight key.

Just before 1500 local, 1900 UTC, things changed. Europe started getting dark. The daytime bands closed off to that part of the world. North American stations started turning their attention—and their beams—to the Western Hemisphere. The Caribbean was up to bat, and if I didn't knock it out of the park, I feel like I at least banged a double off the left-center wall². The pileup lasted for hours. I kept sending "599 100"³ on my J-38 straight key and logging them in on N3FJP software running in a Windows VM on my MacBook. By the time the family got back and it was time to think about dinner I had over 200 contacts in the logbook. 

The next morning I enjoyed a cup of coffee and watched the Olympic men's hockey final. After the game and a lunch break, I halfheartedly made a few contacts at around 1300 local, basically just checking to ensure the rig was tuned up and ready to go for the inevitable pileup that would come in a couple hours. After a bit more relaxing and swimming, my watch showed 1500 local and it was time to get back on the air for real. I half expected a Sunday letdown as slowly I'd start running out of stations that hadn't already worked me, but no such letdown ever happened. By the time I went QRT and began packing for the next day's flight home, I logged 420 contacts in the contest and 510 QSOs for the entire stay in Barbados. Not exactly setting the world on fire, but as a casual contester it was by far my best weekend ever.

Epilogue: The Fourth R

Return. All too soon, it was time to drive (still on the left, but at least by now I wasn't actuating the goddamn windscreen wiper every time I wanted to signal a turn) back to the airport, turn in the rental car, line up for passport check, and board our flight back to the States. I had a window seat on the right side of the airplane. As we turned left from Taxiway A to Taxiway B I saw the field across Highway U with its usual complement of plane spotters. I wondered if Rashad was there. There are so many places in the world and so little time that's it's tempting to think of visiting the same place twice in terms of the opportunity cost of the places you might otherwise have visited, but as the plane gathered speed down Runway 9 and took off into that Caribbean sky, I realized that at the end of the year I shouldn't let my Barbados amateur radio license lapse. We'll be back. Until then, I'll just have to see where the DX contacts take me. See you down the log.

1. On those few occasions where I tuned in a frequency from the transmitter in West Germany itself, the announcement was: "Hier ist die Deutsche Welle, über den Sender in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland."

2. I couldn't resist. For readers outside the US, I promise that will be my only baseball metaphor.

3. The exchange for W and VE stations for this particular contest is RST and state or province and the exchange for DX stations is RST and power.