Scattered across the world are neighbourhoods full of like-minded rebels enjoying a more simplistic way of life, shorn of many of the stresses and trappings of the regular 21st-century world. And in these global economic times, the temptation to throw it all in and join a commune is stronger than ever for some, anyway.
But are these places as good as they're cracked up to be? And do the commune-dwellers really live like one big happy/hippy family? See for yourself. Everyone's welcome to pop their head in, and who knows you may never leave ...
Copenhagen's centre is so pretty you suspect it provided much of the inspiration for Hans Christian Andersen's fantastical fairytales.
Christiania is a 15-minute walk away, but it's hard to believe this gritty, rough-round-the-edges enclave is even in the same city. In some ways it's not. At its entrance, a sign warns: "You are now leaving the European Union."
It's been a bone of contention for the Danish Government since yoga-loving squatters formed Christiania in 1971. It's now home to around 1000 bohemians who refuse to pay tax and adopt a carefree drug policy, although increasingly regular police visits have dampened the "indie" vibe somewhat.
Down the road from swish Swiss-flavoured ski resort town Bariloche, El Bolson is a funky little village blessed with stunning natural beauty and a very swinging '60s-type atmosphere.
In 1984, it declared itself an "ecological township" and a non-nuclear zone, but it prides itself on being South America's prime "cosmic energy centre".
Complementing its mountains, rivers, lakes and creeks are an assortment of art galleries, handicraft shops and stalls manned by hippies selling luscious fruit, organic grub and cool jewellery.
Rather bizarrely, El Bolsonites claim their village is a mecca for UFO sightings. It's open to debate whether this has anything to do with the fact that it's a huge hop growing area and a mass producer of mind-bending home brew.
It seems some places don't consider themselves a bona fide alternative-living commune without a good dose of graffiti.
Metelkova is absolutely caked in the stuff, with its grungy shack-houses, bars and clubs plastered in a kaleidoscope of colourful art.
Built on former military barracks, the Slovenian authorities are deadset on smashing this snug, fun-loving neighbourhood to smithereens so they can replace it with brand-spanking-new apartments.
The only building safe from the threat of demolition is the Celica, an old prison that's been transformed into an art gallery hostel where backpackers flock to spend a night or two behind bars.
The Grand may rank as the world's most undesirable alternative-living spot, which is ironic considering it was once regarded as the most exquisite hotel in Africa.
The dramatic change in fortunes came about following the end of Portuguese colonial rule in the late '70s. During the resulting civil war, the hotel was raided and used as a refugee camp.
These days nearly 2000 squatters are crammed inside the old luxurious walls. Room service is no longer available, nor for that matter is running water or electricity.
Virtually everything of value has been looted, including its marble and bathroom tiles, sinks and bathtubs. And the former pool bar is used as a giant urinal. Tempted?
Declared an independent republic in 1998, Uzupis is a picturesque suburb of Vilnius, where locals have their own president, national anthem, a flag for each season and the Dalai Lama as an honorary citizen.
On April 1 each year, mock border guards stamp visitors' passports, but the most absurd thing about this place is its constitution, which has 41 points of varying madness, including giving inhabitants the right to cry and the right to be idle.
The Lithuanian authorities take a fairly relaxed attitude towards Uzupis a sharp contrast to the heavy-handed nature of previous overlords. You suspect Hitler and Stalin wouldn't have been quite so liberal.
Nimbin's credibility has taken a hit in recent years with the daily influx of stoner tour groups and some claim Bellingen, on the mid-north coast of New South Wales, is now a more authentic bohemian bet.
But first-time visitors to Nimbin are still likely to smile when they see old grannies selling hash cakes on the streets, the Hemp Embassy (which promotes the benefits of cannabis) and reams and reams of clichéd psychedelic fare.
This sleepy NSW hinterland town began its descent into a left-field rustic paradise in 1973 when rebellious students staged the Aquarius Alternative Lifestyle Festival. Many never left, and today Nimbin has its own Big Thing: a giant joint.