Perched high on a log overlooking the bay, we watch the sun slowly sets behind the Golden Gate Bridge. Pulsating orb of light, silhouetting the southern turret of the bridge. The familiar view from Fort Mason in a whole new light in the late spring. Months have passed since arrival. To be back here, surrounded by those closest, feels symbolic. A journey started alone, in this very spot, has been joined by those experiencing their own version of the unknown. Friends that are willing to take risks, to uproot comfortable lives in home countries, to start again somewhere foreign and unforgiving. Friends willing to roll the dice and gamble that, if they take the leap, life will provide. And, looking around, it has. Evening air chills as the sun sinks below low hills north of the bridge, bright orange light fleeting, flickering, as it says its final goodbyes. The German, known for his dry humour and comedic timing, cracks wise, filling the air with an abundance of laughter, warming the soul. Collectively, the group stirs, rising. Down the hill, towards the wharf. A sense of familiarity. They drift ahead, talking, laughing, simply enjoying the presence of each other’s company. Moment to reflect, to cast the mind back, to consider how these people, strangers only months ago, now hold such a place of esteem in the heart.

Small crowd yowls with satisfaction as the guitarist begins his solo. Drummer keeps time as other band members slowly return to the fold, layering their instruments in a complex yet delightful cacophony. Behind, the landscape unfolds. Clear blue skies, uncharacteristic for a winter’s day. An athlete paddles a kayak determinedly across Lake Merced, evening sunlight glistens golden as the paddle sprays water through the air. Lakes surface disturbed, small peaks whipped up by the winter wind. The same wind blows through the trees that surround the wooden platform on which the band performs. A natural amphitheatre, the land around amplifies the music yet drownins out the rush of traffic nearby. The lead singer, an American, is a natural. Born for the stage, he performs for a throng of peers, friends and fans, heart bared proudly on his sleeve. And it is this intensity, this passion, that gets the crowd moving. Strangers and friends alike, moving bodies in a multitude of ways, getting lost in the music. Amongst the crowd, the tenacity of some friends on the dancefloor begins to stand out. A woman from Denmark gets lost in the cool rhythms of the Garden, whilst a friend from France gets equally excited as the pianist picks up a trumpet, filling the air with the sultry tones of brass. Communicating beyond the spoken language, but with the energy of physicality, with movement and gestures. Together, dancing, laughing, learning.

Heavy vibrations of an engine starting up. Water churns nosily as the vessel moves delicately through the harbour. Onboard, tourists look out towards their destination, Alcatraz. Sea lions lie lazily on marina’s edge, soaking up the afternoon sun. One beast, enjoying the water, darts underneath as the boat glides across the surface. From pier 39, together, watching. Two Australians, alone in San Francisco over spring break. A friend made later in the semester but has fast become a close one. Strolling along the foreshore, at times in a comfortable silence, observing the people and the happenings that surround. Taking solace in the fact that someone sees the world through a similar cultural lens. The natural sarcastic humour that sometimes gets missed by other friends. Other moments spent deep in conversation, each attempting to discover more about how the other sees the world, only strengthening the bond. Stories swapped about nights out in different home cities, comparing similarities in schooling, friendships, family. Sitting together to share a meal in the afternoon sun. One tomato soup, one clam chowder. Similarities unite; differences intrigue. Plans are made to reunite in Australia.

Number eighteen bus charges north along forty-sixth avenue, a gloomy Sunday afternoon. Each street it passes gives a momentary glimpse of the Pacific stretching out to the west. Driver hits the breaks, coasting comfortably into the curb. Hissing, pneumatic pressure drops, doors hinge open. On steps a man, brown hair sitting long behind his ears. Headphones on, always enjoying the music. As the bus driver carefully pulls out into traffic, he surveys the bus. Noticing, a grin breaks out on his face, flashing his teeth in a display of trust and affection. A smile that has grown comforting, disarming, over the weeks here in San Francisco. Instant ability to put its receiver at ease. He approaches; an earnest greeting is exchanged in a fusion of English & French. Stories swapped from spring break, reconnecting. Bus pulls into Outer Sunset, just south of Golden Gate Park. Disembarking. Finding a seat, ordering a tea. Sitting together, working simultaneously on a blog post due that evening. In between sips and sentences, more stories are swapped. More detail shared. A relaxing weekend around the city; a chance meeting, a brief romance. Hours trickle by comfortably in this state of leisure. Despite the chilly afternoon air, there is a sense of comfort, of longevity. A shared passion for the written word, for creative expression. Friendship that will cross borders and span oceans.

Horizon line oscillates, world spins, a blurry whirl of colour. Three, maybe four drinks down. Plus the sun beating down. Definitely buzzed. Frenetic music floods the eardrums. Eyes closed for long enough, the bassline seems to reverberate through each individual cell in the body. Opening them, the grassy hill is covered with people, all out enjoying the springtime warmth. A tap on the shoulder. Some sort of drinking game is being explained. Crack open another can. Glasses, caps on, friends stand jovially in each other’s presence, drinks in hand. Split into two teams, the fiery nature of friendly competition takes over. Scrambling across the ground, laughing together, drinking, basking in the sunlight and revelling in companionship. An unforgettable way to celebrate a friend. An afternoon that will forever be remembered.

Seafoam rolls over the grainy black sand. Drained. A day of hiking in Yosemite, followed by a full day in the sun at the Oakdale Rodeo, there is a quiet sense of merited fatigue. Standing on the Pacifica Pier alongside the Scandinavians, it is nice to take a peaceful moment to appreciate the blessings of life. Particularly with this group, two Norwegians and a Dane, there is solemn a dull moment; together they are the life of the party, an abundance of energy and always a laugh. Yet this seems to add more weight to this evening; some tenderness following a weekend of intimate conversations in the confines of a hatchback. Sharing disbelief and awe at the raw beautiful of the natural world. Sharing laughter at ridiculous jokes in a state of exhausted delusion. Cruising along the southern San Francisco coastline towards Half Moon Bay, golden light casting long shadows on the road in front of us, music blaring from the speakers. Plans made to recreate this weekend in home countries. Ideas of summers spent in Norway, at the cabin. Road tripping up the east coast back home. Getting lost looking for waterfalls, finding a surf break or swimming in ice cold waters. Endless fun to be had, with friends that are always ready for a good time.

The door swings open, a cacophony of noise. Brings the present back to the foreground. Not long left in this beautiful city, with these beautiful people. Tired, hungry, wolfing down doubledoubles and fries, animal style. Satiated, with hearts full of affection, for friendships forged in the fires of change.