Excerpts from postcards sent in April 1988, Dean's World Tour I:
 

Denpasar, Bali, 04 April 1988 -- Selamat pagi (Malaysian "good morning")!  Bali certainly has beautiful countryside, as you can see, but I haven't been enjoying it quite as much as I'd like to be.  I still have conjunctivitis (pink eye) and the goop I've been putting in my eyes has been blurring my vision a bit and doesn't seem to be having any positive effects.  Today, I will go to a legitimate eye doctor instead of a general practitioner.  In some ways, it's been cramping my style a bit more than even the malaria did in Africa.

Still, travel has certainly not been without enjoyment during this period.  I'm traveling with a couple of Swedes whom I like to kid about their accents sounding like the Swedish Chef on the Muppet Show.  Yesterday, we climbed a Javan volcano for the most beautiful view I've seen since Nepal.

You asked about "chicks".  I haven't been very successful at charming them lately.  The women I meet on the road are fiercely independent.  They don't seem to have much use for me.
 

Denpasar, Bali, 07 April 1988 -- As I said before, Bali is beautiful, but seeing it through rose-colored eyes has been cramping my style.  After two weeks and a few different kinds of eye drops and anitbiotics, I've begun to wonder if the doctors have anything left in their bag of tricks to cure my conjunctivitis.

The two Swedes with whom I've been traveling, Torbjorn and Pererik, plan to rent a Toyota Landcruiser for a photographic safari of Bali's volcanos, terraced rice paddies and colorful culture.  They not only have a culture here, they live it to the hilt.  There always seems to be some kind of celebration going on somewhere around the island, and even funerals, I am told, are treated as joyous occasions, since they believe that the person who died is reincarnated into a better life.  Every home has its own little temple with shrines to the Hindu gods.  As with temples anywhere in Asia (Hindu, Buddhist, Islamic, etc.), one is supposed to remove one's shoes, but here on Bali, they even require everyone to wear some of the traditional clothing.  Men are required to wear sarongs, sort of like wearing a towel around their waists.  Women are not supposed to enter the temple if they are menstruating, but I don't know how they could enforce that rule.

The main method of cheap local transport around Bali, as in many developing countries, is the "bemo", a small van into which they try to cram amazing numbers of people.  The prices are very cheap, but the drivers will often try to charge tourists who are ignorant of the prices ten or more times the established fare.

After living all my life in the Northern Hemisphere, and even though I'm a geographer by trade, it's somewhat difficult to get my sense of direction south of the equator.  The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, as always, but at midday it's in the northern sky instead of the southern sky.  Also, as you face it, it's moving from right to left instead of left to right!

Denpasar, Bali, 14 April 1988 -- I've already received a heavy dose of Australia here on Bali, since most of the tourists are from there.  They remind me of American tourists in both positive and negative ways.  They're a pretty relaxed bunch, getting on a plane wearing scarcely more than their swimsuits; but at the same time, like American tourists, they sem to have agreater tendancy to complain and whine about trivial things.

By comparison, the native Balians never seem to complain about anything.  Cut somebody off in traffic and he won't shake his fist at you ... he'll just smile.  Drop a Balian child on his head, and still nothing seems to make him cry.  A man can carry several chickens upside down by their legs, and even the chickens seem too laid back to let out a squawk.  It seems, there's nothing to get upset about in Bali.  Still, although Australian's seem more like Americans, they don't seem quite as hypertensive ... rather midway between Balians and Americans in that qualitative measure.

Perth, Australia, 19 April 1988 -- G'day Mates (pronounced G'dye mites),  Perth has a Southern California climate with about one-tenth the Southern California population.  Consequently, it is probably the most pleasant place on Earth to live, although summer heat can be a bit excessive.  The streets seem calm and peaceful, if not dead quiet.  The city seems to have been built to handle the population in the year 2200.  The main disadvantage of living here is that it is likely the most geographically isolated major city (one million) in the world.  It's a hug desert and a continent away from the next major city, Melbourne.  Getting from here to anywhere is high priced.

I'm staying at the home of Marilyn Ladner, the woman whom you identified in the photograph as being significantly older than I am.  At that time, 18 months ago (when we met in Egypt), she was 34 years old; now, she's 41.  In any event, she's been good to me, showing me around, introducing me to a wide range of Australians, and keeping my stomach happy.  She's a history and English instructor, and someone who's had a bit more time than I to travel the world.

The woman in whom I took a stronger interest, Mary Tiechel of Melbourne, informed me today by phone that she's found another guy, so I'm drowning in my ice cold Aussie beer.  I'm still invited to visit her, but the new development certainly will alter my perspective and my prospective plans for Australia.  I start heading East in about a week, but my job hunt (if I ever do take it seriously) may no longer focus on Melbourne.

If you see my Visa Card bill mounting a bit lately, it's partially due to doctor expenses for my continuing conjunctivitis.  I've been paying through the nose here in Australia, even though I thought it was cured.  It seems to have altered the vision in one of my eyes, and I may need a new prescription for my glasses.

I hope to get out of this country without becoming an alcoholic.  The pubs are fun, but I'm not going to try to keep up the pace of consumption that the Australians keep.

Adelaide, Australia, 28 April 1988 -- 'Ow ya doin', mite?  The road houses and filling stations are spaced 100 miles or more apart.  Instead of deer crossing road signs, they have signs for camels, kangaroos, emus (something like a small ostrich) and wombats.  Crossing the Nullanbar Desert on a 2000 mile bus trip through the Australian outback is not so monotonous if it's your first time.  Much of it is surprisingly lush, and while not so photogenic, it is still desolately fascinating and beautiful.

The Greyhound Bus drivers all seem to be either aspiring or frustrated comedians.  One announces that if we drop a cigarette in the chemical toilet, we might get a bigger bang out of life than expected.  Another toots reveille with his voice at 6:30 AM to wake us up, says "it's pissing down rain", and tells us to go back to sleep because we won't be stopping for breakfast for two hours, and then says "I'm just kidding folks".  This seems to be typical of Australians in general.  They are outgoing, straight-forward, and more than Americans enjoy participating in light-hearted banter, even with total strangers.

I lucked into a free bus ride from Perth to Adelaide, which saved me $90.  A guy at the Youth Hostel in Perth had two days left on his Australia Pass that he wasn't going to use.  In theory, they might have required me to be him, that is, to sign his name; but in practice, they rarely do, and in this case, they didn't ask me to sign.

I saw a kangaroo when I got off and walked into the brush near one of the coffee stops along the highway.  The animal was just a few yards away from me when we startled each other.  He quickly hopped away.  He seemed to be nearly as tall as I am.

Australians and I often have to listen to each other carefully in order to understand.  We don't speak the same language.  You'll notice a similar situation when you visit Ireland and Britain, especially if you go to Glascow, Scotland, where they seem to speak Martian.

Peace and Love,
Deano

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