ON THE ROAD/Rosita Boland: Obvious as it may sound, it's a fallacy to think that just because a (non-English-speaking) country is far away from your own, it's therefore automatically difficult to travel through.
Vietnam may conjure up images of one particular vain-glorious war and several other complex and bloody power-struggles but it's no secret that today's Socialist Republic welcomes the tourist dollar with a frankly exhausting passion.
Since Vietnam is such a long and narrow country, everyone travels on either a north-south or south-north axis. It's a well-worn route: Saigon, with a sidetrip to the Mekong Delta; the old hill-station of Dalat; Nha Trang's beach; the lovely old trading town of Hoi An; Hue, the imperial capital; and Hanoi, with the opportunities to trek in Sapa or see world-famous Halong Bay.
Although Vietnam now actively welcomes tourists, it still likes to try and control where they go. Getting off the beaten track is not that easy and it's always frustrating as local buses often refuse to sell foreigners tickets, and on trains - when you can get a ticket - you automatically pay 400 per cent more for it.
Enter the Vietnamese phenomena known as the "travellers' cafes", the biggest of which is the Sinh Cafe. These fiercely competitive travel companies have offices in every stop along the route, offering both local dirt-cheap day-trips and selling a Saigon-Hanoi bus ticket (which allows stopovers) for as little as $24.
Most backpackers, no matter how independent, cave in and buy a ticket that covers at least part of this route: I used it from Saigon to Hue and then took a sleeper train to Hanoi.
With such a clearly prescribed route and day-trips offered at every point in Vietnam, it's hard to escape the feeling that you're actually on one long package tour through the country. In terms of challenging travel, it scores zero.
However, there are of course good reasons why particular places are on the tourist trail. I loved Hue's beautiful imperial tombs, located on the banks of the Perfume River; its gardens and half-moon lakes and arcane tranquillity. In Hoi An's old Chinese quarter, I saw 200-year-old wooden houses decorated with boards on which poems were inlaid in mother-of-pearl, each character composed of several tiny birds.
The highlight of my whole time there was the two days and nights on an old wooden boat, exploring gorgeous Halong Bay, where literally every minute brings another amazing view of some of its 3,000 extraordinary limestone pinnacle-like islands.
But the main drawback to pounding such a well-known route is that everywhere you go, people are ready and waiting for you - to sell hotel rooms, conical hats, food, day-trips, clothes, junk, cyclo-rides, postcards and a million other things.
All Asian countries have touts, and it would be naive to be surprised by their numbers and constant presence, but the Vietnamese ones are by far the most persistent and pushy.
Every western tourist is quite properly fair game when travelling in any country less affluent than its own, but Vietnam's hassle factor is so high that it's difficult to keep your patience and a sense of grace in deflecting the constant demands for your dollar.
I've never travelled anywhere I've heard so many experienced backpackers complaining about feeling little more than walking cashpoints, nor heard so many stories about being ripped off.
For three weeks, I let all the quite considerable hassle wash over me: I didn't want to spoil my time in Vietnam by wasting energy on getting annoyed about unimportant things.
But finally, in Hanoi, I cracked. A child who could have been no more than 12 followed me through the Old Quarter, trying to sell me a guidebook. I refused (politely).
When he at last realised I really didn't want a book, he shoved me up against a wall and struck me - hard - on the face, yelling unprintable obscenities. As I stood stunned, watching him running off, all my sympathy, patience and tolerance vanished with him and I'm afraid thereafter I ceased being polite to all Vietnamese touts.