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I was probably 15 at the time. My father and I were stumbling around Istanbul trying to read signs that might have well been gibberish as we tried to find a doctor or at the very least a pharmacy. We paused so dad could catch his breath on a bench.
A vendor was selling roasted chestnuts nearby, so I went to buy some. He noticed my father and gestured asking what was wrong, I tried to explain in English and then in French that he was ill.
I’m not sure how, but he understood me, abandoned his cart, and guided us between the winding streets of Istanbul to a tiny pharmacy tucked in a corner. His refusal to take any money for his help, and his selflessness in our time of need touched as and has served as reminder that kindness can come from the most surprising of sources.

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