KEY POINTS:
Nancy Cawley reports that the kindness of the people of Vietnam eases the challenges for older tourists
Here it comes. The same old question. The Singapore taxi-driver looks at me in his rear-vision mirror. "How old are you?" he asks. I know this is a routine query for Asians, helping them round out their picture of a foreigner, but I always bristle a little.
"That's not a question you ask a woman," I say.
"I think you are very strong," says the taxi-driver.
Flattered, I say, "Oh all right. I'm 76. And yes, I'm strong."
I thought of my proud boast several times during the following month in Vietnam. Richly satisfying as a tourist destination, with exotic sights, sounds, scents and cuisine, Vietnam is nevertheless a challenging country to visit, especially for the older traveller.
First off, there is the sweat-trickling heat and high humidity. By the time I flew out of Hanoi in early April, spring temperatures were hitting 35-38C. Hot enough to take the edge off sight-seeing and shopping urges.
Air-conditioning in hotel rooms and public buildings saved my sanity, along with tree-shaded streets, and open-fronted cafes selling cold drinks with names like China Sea Breeze (pineapple, sugar-cane and lime) and Sunset Beach (papaya and lime).
Presumably they weren't using tap-water in the drinks, as I had no stomach upsets at all on the trip.The cheap little fan I bought in a market nearly fell apart, I worked it so hard. Two-hour, sometimes three-hour, siestas every day recharged my batteries.
I didn't lose sleep over the serious health hazards in Vietnam, but I did take precautions. My vaccinations were up to date, I took a daily anti-malaria pill (though only one in five other tourists seemed to) and was careful to slather on the insect goop.
My guide-book reminded me that the mosquito that transmits dengue fever "bites day and night, especially in the cities". There is no vaccine, insect repellent is the only defence.
My one health setback was a chest infection picked up in Hue, probably from the thick pollution that clogs all Vietnamese cities. For a modest fee, a tall good-looking doctor came to my hotel twice, bringing a truckload of pills, and I was back on my feet in a couple of days.
Like his son, who came with him to interpret, the doctor had trained in Hue's teaching hospital. Next time I'll use a scarf across my nose and mouth more, perhaps even a mask like some men and 90 per cent of women motor-cyclists and push-bike users wear.
At times I made things hard for myself. Background reading had made me keen to know more about Vietnam's "Father of the Nation" - Ho Chi Minh (1890-1969). This included seeing his birth-place, near the town of Vinh, halfway between Hue and Hanoi.
So while most of the tourists with whom I had been hobnobbing did the trip north by plane, I suffered two days of noisy uncomfortable train and bus travel. But somehow the pilgrimage to the quiet hamlet of Hoang Tru to see the two-room bamboo hut, was worthwhile, bringing me a little closer to the thinking of the Vietnamese.
A young mother told me, "We tell our babies about Uncle Ho". Although he was probably not the saint the people want to believe he was, Ho Chi Minh was the strong leader, the figurehead, they needed during the fraught years of the Vietnam War.
Far more common among Western visitors is to view Uncle Ho's embalmed body in his granite mausoleum in Hanoi. I joined a queue of perhaps a couple of
thousand people to see his spotlit figure in a fridge-cold chamber, four sentries standing at each corner of the glass coffin, bayonets fixed.
For the first half hour in the queue, I enjoyed the company of a Chicago couple and their newly adopted Vietnamese baby daughter, but a guard waved them aside, explaining that only children who could walk were allowed into the mausoleum.
A happy and constant background to the ups and downs of being a tourist in Vietnam, is the kindness of the people. Everywhere, there are smiles and nods, and small helpful acts, like the young woman who adjusted the toggle of my sunhat so it wouldn't blow off, as I sat on the pillion of her father's "motor-bike taxi".
The hotel at Halong Bay didn't measure up at all to the glowing internet description. Disarmingly, the proprietor asked, "You want higher standard?" When I agreed I did, he phoned for a taxi, came with me to a more suitable hotel, waited until he was sure I had secured a room, and would take no money for his trouble.
Most major cities are built beside rivers. So there are plenty of boat trips on offer. I made the most of these, only missing out on a dragon-boat ride on the Perfume River at Hue. And I swam in the boisterous surf off legendary China Beach, near Danang, where American combatants once came for their R and R. A notice warning of "dangerous currents" added to the buzz.
Among Vietnam's population of 83 million, one in 10 people own a motor-bike - probably something like one in five in the big cities. So the big challenge was always going to be crossing the roads in Hanoi. My guide-book warned that the biggest number of "fatalities, serious injuries, and evacuations" among foreigners are from pedestrians crossing city streets.
Timing is everything for pedestrians - waiting for the little green man to beckon, or failing that, until a light changes somewhere and the roaring tide eases. Even then, the phalanx of bikes, on either side of the pedestrian crossing, are like two menacing armies waiting to strike.
In reality, most Vietnamese respect other road users. So I did as the locals do, walked slowly and steadily across, never stopping, and always looking upstream. I won't get started on car horns, which are used almost non-stop.
The mid-range hotels in which I stayed were excellent - and cheap. My all-time favourite was the Thanh Binh 3 Hotel, in Hoi An. It was bright, well run and decorated with fretted Chinese woodwork. My ground-floor room opened into an airy atrium with swimming pool and greenery, while glass doors at the rear of the room opened on to my own tiny courtyard - all for $25 a night, including a lavish breakfast and free internet access.
One small blemish: as in all other hotels, the shower was an attachment over the bath. My stiff old knees would have enjoyed a walk-in shower cubicle much more.
The most I paid for a room was $35, and that was on the panoramic ninth floor of a palatial hotel overlooking Halong Bay. In Hanoi, I'd always go back to the excellent Vinh An Hotel in the Old Quarter ($30), if only for the two bellhops who swept the double glass doors open as guests came and went. An Australian woman with whom I did some sight-seeing, was paying $8 a night elsewhere. Later she was hospitalised, with probable dengue fever. Perhaps there was a connection.
After occupying Vietnam for 80 years, the French have returned in force as tourists. A charming Frenchman I met on a bus, said the misty conditions of April made things "more romantic", but took no steps to prove it. When he mentioned he was a retired schoolteacher, I said that as a writer I would never retire. He said, "No, you will probably die at your desk." Somehow, a comforting thought.
* Nancy Cawley travelled to Vietnam with Singapore Airlines.
