Our first two nights in Istanbul were spent in Haight-Ashbury, circa 1967.  We stopped at Güllüoglu on our way to another hostel with actual bathing facilities and snacked on the best baklava in Istanbul, and perhaps beyond.  We had already conquered the tramway (or "tramvay," in Turkish—very Boris and Natasha) making our way to the first hostel, but group decisions tend toward redundancy so we asked for directions to the tram station that was two blocks over and which direction to take it in, in lieu of flipping a coin between "this way" and "that way."  In keeping with Turkish hospitality, we found ourselves personally led to the station by one of the younger men working there.  He was sent out into the rain by his seniors to guide a bunch of clueless Americans (and one French kid) a pointless distance, but he did not carry out his duty grudgingly.  As he walked at our forefront a man he passed a man standing under an umbrella in front of a gas station who—with an apparently clairvoyant and total understanding of the situation—wordlessly handed off his umbrella to our guide. According to some unspoken precept, he had helped the man walking in the rain without an umbrella.  He did not seem to mind that he was now the man in the rain without an umbrella.  We Americans needed to give some pithy bit of sardonic wit to the exchange in order to comprehend it.  Thus, Here Superman, have my umbrella.  

And Superman he was; or perhaps Hermes is better, for as he was preparing to usher us across the street to the tram station a woman frantically gripping a cell phone crossed toward us and chose from among us Ella—who does not look Turkish— to ask an urgent directional question in Turkish.  Our psychopomp deftly plucked the phone from the woman's hand and proceeded to direct whoever was on the other end, all while we crossed a hectic major street—a feat all its own in Istanbul.  He must have seen the awe in my eyes because he tried to strike up a friendly conversation in German, which I do not know except to say that I do not speak German.  I was left feeling the same inadequacy I feel for not knowing Greek, Turkish, French, Spanish or Arabic, and that was the end of our interaction as we had reached the tram.  All I can say is, in English, but with a gratitude and wonder that reaches beyond the boundaries of language: thanks, Superman.