Oreos Never Tasted So Good

I wake up from the night before with no hangover. I should feel worse than I do but I'm lucky even though  I'm not that young. I lay on my back and rub my hands through my hair, trying to hold on to the beautiful dream I have just departed. Now I can't remember it anymore. The three-bed hotel room is windowless, it's impossible to know what time it is, or even if the sun had risen yet. I should be exhausted but I remember where I am and what I hope to see this morning. With hope I check the time and see that it is not too late to see it. I'm lucky. It's 5am in Quy Nahn, Vietnam, and I'll finally see the sun rise over the Pacific Ocean. I truly think this will be a monumental moment, forgetting that I've seen this in Hawaii with my sister, a fact I will later remember that will completely undermine the entire morning. But now I dress quietly, not sure whether or not to wake two friends, Kelvin and Mary.





"What time is it?" Mary looks up from her bed, the center bed of the three.

"It's time," I reply, "come on."

She giggles, "Can you come get me when it starts?"

I scoff and smile, "It's not a movie, you can't just skip the previews."

And she laughs, "I know, but you know what I mean. I just want to sleep a little longer."

From the darkest end of the room on the third bed Kelvin remains motionless, but informs the inside of his pillow, "I'm going to sit this one out."

"You sure?" I ask: 'It's coming up from the other side, asshole! Think of all the nights outside of Florence and in Cannon Beach that we've seen it set on this same ocean in Oregon. We're on the other side now!' I think this but don't say it. My admiration for his general motivation and joy allows me to trust that he knows what he's doing. In my heart, I know he'll come.

He says, "That's alright. I'm going to sleep." I grin and go outside to have a look.

The beach lies directly across the street from our hotel. White sand, confined by hills to our left and endless white sands to our right. The forefront is filled with myriad colors and of fishing boats, like a dream that you don't believe exists anywhere except in your dreams or paintings of paradise. The previous day it belonged entirely to us, and we swam in the ocean without anyone else around. The Vietnamese people hate being in the sun during the daytime, and avoid it at all cost, even to the point of covering their body with long sleeves and gloves in 100 degree heat. Now, however, at 5am, when the sun is just rising and the air is still cool, the beach is crowded with people. There are hundreds of them, young and old, mostly old, walking along the beach. Some are walking with the purpose of fitness, many are just walking pleasantly with a friend, stopping their conversations long enough to stare at the pale skin and shaggy red hair that hangs down to my neck. The sun has not peaked out yet, but the light preceding it has long since crept over the earth's largest ocean, ready to begin a new day.

I go back to the room immediately, surprised there is so much light already and nervous we will miss it. After some incoherent grumbling Mary whines, "I'll see it tomorrow. I'm going to keep sleeping."

"Ha! Whatever you say, Mare Bear, it's your great Southeast-Asian adventure. I'm not going to force you to see any amazing sunrises that you don't want to see."

"Ugh... fine! But can we bring the box of cookies they put in the room that cost three times what they would in the store?"

"Of course."

"Okay then. Let's go." She rises from the middle bed and begins to dress and I go back outside, this time with the packet of Oreos. Kelvin remains in bed, unaffected by the conversation, insisting to his pillowcase that he will see it tomorrow. I chuckle.

I sit down on the edge of the beach. A concrete ridge separates the sidewalk from the sand and it's an ideal place to dangle your feet and look at the ocean. The air is cool in the morning and the concrete is cold under my thin swimming trunks, a nice relief from the intense sun I've been experiencing since arriving from the Oregon winter.

'Rising over the Pacific,' I think, 'I've seen it set over this same water so many times. I can't believe how far I've come from home.'

Mary sits beside me and I open the package of cookies. We begin to eat them as groups of two and three people pass by us and I realize we are not a common sight. People stare, and I smile.  It is rush hour, a crowded beach in front of us and a sandy sidewalk behind us, both full of people passing by staring. I smile at most as they walk by. My smile is met with either a warm smile returned or an emotionless gaping.

I look over the hills to the left and I start laughing. The sun will not rise over the Pacific Ocean. We are not facing east. The sun is rising over the hills to our left, we're facing the bay that lies south of the hills.

Kelvin arrives and sits beside us. He doesn't want to miss out. He knows he would regret it. I laugh, but not heartily, I am sad. Where is my sunrise? Where is my religious experience. I've come all this way and want beauty. I want an epiphany for why we are here, and I expect the sun rising over the Pacific Ocean to give it to me. I don't know why I expect this, but I'm feeling an increasingly sinking feeling as I come to terms with the sun rising over the hills.Regardless, I'm so happy Kelvin is here.

Mary hands me a cookie, "It's so beautiful, look at all of the fishing boats."

I twist the cookie and take a bite of the side without frosting. I look out and see the multicolored boats. I see hundreds of Vietnamese people walking along the beach, something I didn't know happened and have never seen before. An old couple passing  by smiles at me, clearly tickled at the novelty of the three of us sitting here, to be looked at on their morning walk.

I feel the cool morning air and breathe in the salty red sky. I sit next to my two traveling companions. It's amazing what traveling with people can do for your perception of them. I've traveled with Kelvin before and consider him a brother. I can't think of another I would rather be sitting next to watching the sun rise. And Mary has seamlessly engraved herself into my heart, her name already speaks easily like a member of my deepest inner circle after only a few weeks of knowing her because of her candidness and open acceptance. It doesn't hurt that Kelvin seems to accept her in the same manner. We sit, Mary in the middle, and watch the bay as the sun rises over the hills to the north, left of where we sit looking at the bay, eating cookies. I wonder what the day will bring. We have plans to rent bicycles and check out the town. The sky is the limit, but we already seem to be floating in it. I don't think it gets any better than this.