I took a shower and tried to hire a becak to head back to Martinada. However, the driver tried to sell me a ride to the island, which I did not want. I moved on, but almost all the drivers were asking for preposterous amounts of fares. In my travels around the world, I have witnessed three main categories of prices for goods and services that a visitor may be confronted with, which I have assigned some proper names.

1. Hilton Price. Often but not exclusively restricted to western tourists, but applicable to anyone looking rich, well-dressed or carrying branded accessories, like a Haliburton Suitcase, a Gucci bag or a Canon video camera, looking like an Arab Sheikh or a rich businessman.

2. Lonely Planet or Hippy Price. A mid-range price, but one that can range from anything from one to 20% or even more, depending upon the appearance and behaviour of the customer, especially his or her acquaintance or ignorance of the local language.

3. Local Price. That is self-explanatory.

I tried a few more times with unsuccessful results and decided to walk instead. As I arrived at the end of Nusantara Street, I saw a becak driver who looked very young, though he was nearing his twenties. Somehow, he looked very trustworthy, and I was not disappointed. I directly and confidently asked him to take me to the central market. He demanded almost one-tenth of what others had been asking, which I assumed was the standard fare for locals. Eman was the young driver's name, and he spoke English quite well. He could not afford to finish his education and had been forced to work as a wage earner from a very young age to support his family. He worked for almost 14 hours a day; some days were lucky, others just bad. Overall, it was a very unpredictable and fluctuating source of income, but painting a becak was not that expensive, and he did not have to worry about fuel or other costs. Someday, he hoped, he would have a taxi, and he was diligently working to achieve his goal. I strolled through the market and considered buying him a shirt since his was worn at the sleeves. But then I thought, he might prefer money for a more important need. The market was full and lively. I told Eman to take me along the Timor road and through a few other well-frequented roads in the neighbourhood, then to a restaurant for some local Padang food. I took some photographs on the way and checked with a few travel agencies about flight costs to Manado.

Finally, Eman brought me to a lovely wooden house with a restaurant on two floors. The view from the top was great, and I found the best spot to sit. The prices were quite affordable. Just then, as the waiter approached to take my order, I excused myself and left. Eman had taken me to a famous restaurant and parked outside to wait for me. The thought of this young man, who should have been in school and college, waiting like a servant for someone to have dinner, did not sit well with me. I told him to head for the long lane of food stalls we had seen on the way. They seemed picturesque, and the food was inviting. I chose one and asked him to join me. He was surprised, and we enjoyed some great dishes. It was then time to call Raimond, and I asked Eman to take me back to the hotel. On the way, I took his photo and asked for his address. I gave him double the amount I had paid for the taxi. He refused it, returning half. I gently tucked it into his pocket, patting him, feeling somewhat fatherly love toward this gentle, honest soul.

I am sure, given the opportunity, he would have been a great student of any discipline he chose, had he been able to continue his studies. But thrown into semi-cutthroat competition for survival and success in an already amply saturated Marketplace, he may, more importantly, gain fantastic skills and become a successful entrepreneur. There is more than one account of such inspiring stories, and Eman, in my opinion, seemed to fit the bill.