So, last week I told you about my adventure escaping from the hippie farm, sneaking out without telling anyone in the early hours of the morning and hitching a ride to the nearest town – Pai. This was very much a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire.  Somewhere along the line, this town in the north of Thailand decided to exchange good taste, cleanliness, and a sense of humour, for unwashed hair, hemp, and rasta bars. It’s such a parody of itself, that I’m wondering if the whole place isn’t some postmodern joke. I guess that a stranger to Hackney gay life might say the same thing, but y’know, good alternative = man in a dress lip syncing for his life; bad alternative = a Keith from The Office lookalike wearing harem trousers with Bob Marley’s portrait emblazoned on the arse-cheeks.

I’m going to keep this post short as I’d sooner not dwell on Pai’s awfulness, but here are four photos that tell you all you need to know. And I didn’t even take a photo of dreadlocks!

edible jazz

A café called ‘Edible Jazz’. Jesus wept.

rasta sign

Oh dear.

rasta art bar

Oh dear, oh dear.

fusion folk

“Folk fusion”.

And that, my dear readers, is Pai. What an absolute hole.

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