A couple weekends ago, I hopped into a van with a few fellow Krus from Phrae and made the 700 odd-turns up a winding mountain road to a little expat village known as Pai. After our three-hour ride, we were dropped off in the center of what felt like Macklemore’s personal thrift shop. We purchased a bottle of the town’s finest Hong Tong, and made it our mission to reach the Pai Circus, where we would reside for the next several days. We headed away from the town center, crossing a bridge made solely out of bamboo sticks and leaves, followed by more bamboo bungalows along the way. After trekking, backpacks and all, up a narrow dirt hill, we had finally arrived at the Circus. We had stepped into what felt like its own bohemian universe. The camp was full of misguided twenty-somethings juggling fire, hula hooping, and lounging by an infinity pool that over looked the mountains and countryside. I had found my happy place. Pure contentment. The next several days were filled with shots of wheatgrass, conversations with expats from foreign lands, canyons, hunting for trinkets, strawberry fields, planting banana trees with the soy-bean farmer who discovered the Pai Land Split, drinking hibiscus juice, kindred spirits, lounging in hammocks, chasing waterfalls, late nights and early mornings wasted at Don’t Cry Bar, and getting wonderfully lost on the back of a motor bike. If you are ever given the chance to visit this magical little town, do not hesitate. Go immediately.