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Published on August 4, 2007

The Vietnamese customs official pointed to the X-ray machine and gestured impatiently. It was clear what he wanted done. The old man standing ahead of me in the queue, an upcountry farmer, quickly complied. He tossed his bags on the conveyor, smiled at the official, and lay down flat on the moving rubber, nose down, arms outstretched.

It was a full two seconds before anyone reacted. I caught one leg, the customs man, the other, and we hauled him back from the maws of the juddering X-ray machine.

That was Hanoi 20 years ago. Later at the Dan Chu hotel, which is no more, I waited at their musty restaurant for a serving of the "chef's special". It was a long wait. The head chef, the cooks and the waiters were having a back-slapping, sweat-dripping communal meal at the next table. There was much mirth and merriment and the occasional smile in my direction. They ate noisily and unhurriedly. I wondered if the chef's special was actually a lunchtime show rather than something on a dish. But the food tasted good. It was worth the wait. And the service, when it arrived, was excellent, courteous and attentive.

Urchins outside - mistaking me for Mother Theresa, who also once sported a modest moustache - tailed me for several blocks selling postcards and model F-15 jets crafted skilfully from castaway cans of Coca-Cola and Heineken beer. Vast shopping "malls" covered with tarpaulin sold useful things like wind-up Russian watches and B-52 bomber compasses, some the size of a small cabinet.

Vietnam has changed much. Now posh hotels sporting sniffy, big-city indifference and gleaming malls priced higher than Hong Kong dominate the skyline and Japanese cars honk on roads once dominated by the tinkle of bicycle bells. Prices are climbing along with the hemlines.

The moped, that workhorse of Vietnam roads, survives - still elegantly transporting a family of five without fuss through the dusty scrum. Tall women in white-scarves still ride these rickety contraptions with ramrod-straight backs and pride that wouldn't be misplaced in the leather seats of a Mercedes Benz. Some, particularly in the south, will even wiggle their fingers at foreign men and offer a ride - with a little extra thrown in for a fee.

But Vietnam is changing.

The time to visit is now, before creeping modernity transforms places like sleepy Hanoi into another grinding throbbing Bangkok plagued by traffic gridlock and other modern blights.

To still get a taste of authentic old-world charm try Hoi An, the old merchant city that specialised in silk, and still does, albeit now for tourists.

This old quarter has been considerably revived with more than a lick of bright paint, remodelling, pedestrianisation, chic restaurants and new shops. It is just a 20-minute drive from Danang, the nearest airport served by a few international charters. Fabled China Beach that runs down this quiet coast is now called "Sunrise Beach", but the old name has stuck. It is a glorious stretch of sand, largely unpopulated save for early mornings when city folk arrive to exercise en masse.

Hue, a short drive to the north of Danang, is another heritage site worth a visit, Sapa in the cool hill country north of Hanoi offers cultural distractions and nature, while Phan Thiet, an hour-and-a-half from Ho Chi Minh City, offers some of the smoothest, softest white sand this side of the Suez. It is a great family or honeymoon getaway with simple pleasures, fabulous sea views, and even some rolling sand dunes for off-road adventure and 10-megapixel poses.

Due to its proximity to Saigon, Phan Thiet has developed steadily with some fine resorts offering quality refuge at affordable rates. Yet, it remains one of modern Vietnam's best kept secrets. And if islands are your thing, fly over to Phu Quoc, a nascent Phuket, ringed by nice beaches and some interesting resorts.

Adventures are around every corner. Twenty years ago when I first visited Vietnam I ran into a movie star named Diem ("Call me Jim," she said).

"What sort of movies?" I enquired.

"Oh, saahx movies," she cooed.

My heart stopped for a moment.

"I cry a lot," she continued, smiling impishly.

"Sex movies? Wow."

I inquired about all the starlets running amok at the function. Jim explained that she always travelled everywhere with her "modehl".

"May I introduce you?"

"Yes," I mumbled, knees turning to jelly.

Jim returned a moment later with a wizened old woman who grabbed my wrist firmly, looked me in the eye and barked, "What your nationality?" It was her "modehl". I wriggled free of the mother and fled, on a cycle rickshaw, through the rain.

Ahead, a large movie billboard loomed bearing the weeping face of none other than the beauteous Jim.

"That Diem," my rickshaw man said, "very saaahd movie. She cry a lot."

Right.