So Pizza Hut it was. In India, they're pretty upscale joints, and this one was located in a fashionable part of Allahabad. Out in front of the expansive shop was a man in an ill-fitting uniform that suggested "security guard." He carried something in between a stick and a cudgel.

We ate. It ruled. We left as the sun staggered off to drunkenly bone the moon and made our way to the tuk-tuks. But our path was quickly blocked by a gang of street urchins, who darted about between us and proceeded to do adorable street urchin-y things. Before we could fully appreciate their cuteness, the Pizza Hut guard ran up waving his stick belligerently and shouting at the urchins in Hindi. They ran off as he gave pursuit, swatting them. A realization struck me just as the baton struck a fleeing kid's butt.

This man's job is to hit poor children who get too close to Pizza Hut.

Jeff Peterson
As if Pizza Hut needs any help hurting children.

He'd made a career of frightening and assaulting kids to enforce the sovereignty of America's second-best terrible pizza. I never saw an Indian Papa John's, but if it exists, I assume they have guard towers and snipers.

Everyone and everything looks more sinister by the flickering light of a trash fire. And the daylight traded sketchiness in for the outright bear-taunting lunacy of rush hour traffic, India style. Cars and pedestrians follow traffic rules that exist only in their own heads. Elephants sometimes share the same highway as little three-wheeled golf carts and semi trucks. New Delhi also has the most polluted air in the world, and just breathing there for a day is as bad for your lungs as chain-smoking two packs of cigarettes.

Don't get me wrong; I fucking love New Delhi. But if you're a starry-eyed Westerner flying to the subcontinent with visions of Eat, Pray, Love in your head, that first day in New Delhi is going to be a hard one. And when you start freaking out and trying to plan your escape from this Blade Runner-ian dystopia, there will be travel agents there to "help" you.

Shankar s.
When the word "help" is in quotation marks, that means it's fucking expensive.

Did I say "help"? I meant "terrify you with fake bus schedules to convince you there's only one ride out of town and they've got it." For bonus points, these guys often pretend to be (or just as often are) government officials. They'll pull up bullshit versions of a booking website for the Indian train systems and convince you everything is booked, and you'll have to charter this van for $2,000 and two weeks. Pro Tip: The trains in India are never, ever booked (as long as you're willing to sit in the hallway, next to the bathroom).

These guys aren't limited to New Delhi, either. You'll find the same scams running in Bangkok, Shanghai, Beijing -- anywhere young Westerners routinely get in way over their heads.

Sam Sherratt
"Where ... where does my backpack go?"

Before anyone could react, he stuck his finger on my friend's forehead and smiled beatifically as he murmured a beautiful, melodic prayer. It was one of those moments of intense spiritual connection Rishikesh is famous for (it's the same city where the Beatles had their ashram). And then, with the same beatific smile, he reached out a hand in the universal gesture of "Money, bitches."

India is the most religious place I've ever been. Parades happen on a nightly basis in some cities -- one night I watched a baby riding a horse down a street in South Delhi, surrounded by a bunch of bejeaned young men dancing their hearts out. It's not uncommon to wake up (or fall asleep) to the sound of cymbals crashing and children chanting. But it's a huge damn country, and they're so good at capitalism, you guys.

Vivesh war
Also good at: night parades.

That's led to a whole industry dedicated to taking advantage of "seekers" who make their pilgrimage East loaded down with euros and dollars. Rishikesh is considered one of the most sacred cities in India. It's also a big open-air college for dreadlocked hippies who want to learn yoga or tantric sex. Some of those teachers are honest men trying to impart their idea of truth. And some of them are just as happy to sell you hash, if that's the kind of "enlightenment" you're into.

At around 60 miles per hour.

I think the best way to illustrate how badass these drivers are is a story about a dude I met who was just training to be one. He was an ayudante (assistant driver), and most of his job involved taking money from the passengers and bringing it back up to the driver. But a chicken bus can fill up fast, and there aren't rules about things like how many people can legally be on a bus in the places these things run. The driver will pack every seat and every inch of floor space. And sometimes that means the ayudante finds himself at the back of the bus with a shitload of cash and no way to push back to the front.

When it happened on our bus, this kid (he was maybe 19) popped the emergency exit in the back and gymnasted himself up onto the top of the bus like an adorable Latin Spider-Man. The bus driver slowed to a more reasonable 50 miles an hour while the ayudante shimmied his way across the top of the bus. After a minute, the driver opened the front door and his little assistant flipped back down inside the bus and handed over the wad.

Harry
"Finally, we can afford more chrome!"

1. The hijra always traveled in large groups.

2. The locals were not big fans of them.

Harry
It's easy to be jealous of people who dress this well.

Eventually I managed to strike up a conversation with one who spoke pretty good English, and she explained that they made a living by taking advantage of their unpopularity with the less open-minded members of the town. They'd find the people who were most bothered by them and loiter in front of their shops until paid to leave.

"We're bad for business."

It was kind of sad, but when you think about it, it's also pretty ingenious and definitely evidence of a better grasp of capitalism's finer points than we've ever seen from Donald Trump.