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Mimicking a punctured garden hose, my left foot cried out in pain as I held on to my overly bronzed human crutch, a homeless man (I later find out) --though his fierce, musty odor never suggested otherwise. I stood there, vulnerable. Wet. Dazed. Days into my solo adventure and a ravine --like gash was putting to canvas what my heart was feeling. It was Friday the 13th, in Puerto Viejo de Salamanca, Costa Rica, and due to a buzzing jetlag I had arrived half an hour too early for breakfast at the Puerto Pirata Deli and now found myself scanning the area for help. “It’s fine…really, thank you.” I had muttered unconvincingly. As you do when a homeless man zealously volunteers to run down to the pharmacy for you, expecting nothing in return- except for cash in advance to pay for the first aid products he was going to fetch. Was I cynical? Absolutely. Something about his eyes hinted of a mellifluous sadness and yet his charismatic Duchenne smile erased it all together. His aged beard, the color of secondhand smoke, faultlessly complemented his tousled hair cascading in waves from under his cap. “How about we walk together?” I offered. We confided our deepest secrets. He mentioned an excessive drug abuse, and his reason for choosing to be homeless. “No job means no money for drugs” he proudly whispered. I congratulated him, for he was celebrating 25 years of being drug free. A respectable feat. I confessed the reason for my trip –a loved one’s suicide. “Live. And be happy” he breathed. “We only have one life, make the best of it.” I watched like a child in awe as he gallantly patched up my foot, his face illumined all the while. “Look at me, I’m a doctor!” He sang. He admired his artwork and for a real second considered what his life would have been like had he really been a doctor. Before parting ways, we enjoyed a few extra minutes of each other’s company at the local café. I ordered a coffee, and he sipped a Coca Cola while he read the newspaper, all the while making comments about the economic situation in various countries. Exhausted from the hectic morning, my honorary doctor laid down for a nap, of course not before changing my bandage for a second time. And as he slept, I gazed at the translucent cerulean blue between surging palm trees and I could not help but smile. My foot was bandaged and my heart was significantly lighter. I whispered farewell lingering around just long enough to feel the dawning of an iridescent hope.