Pai is a living hell, and here is the evidence.

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!

A café called ‘Edible Jazz’. Jesus wept.

Oh dear.

Oh dear, oh dear.

“Folk fusion”.

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

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