Filled with excitement, we flew to the island of Phu Quoc for my birthday weekend, intent on sun, sea and relaxation after the hustle and bustle of Saigon. The flight there was simply stunning, as we soared over shimmering clear blue ocean and the verdant green north of the island's forests. It really felt like we were off on an adventure.

Apparently the government has big plans for turning Phu Quoc into a major tourist destination. Fortunately plans to execute this are clearly still in their very early stages, as we discovered pretty soon after arrival. The island remains an unspoilt paradise, with deserted beaches and an endless row of palm trees all the way down the west coast, pepper farms dotted through the middle.

For the most part, there is no road to speak of – small 500m patches of tarmac, seemingly randomly placed, break the monotony of bumpy rust-coloured dirt tracks. The signs of proper road construction are everywhere; but again, progress seems to be slow. Learning that the drive to our resort was the best part of an hour's journey from the airport, we rejected our motorbike pick up and opted for a taxi – thank God! I am astounded the car suspension survived the trip, so I think our experience on the back of a motorbike, laden down with 15kg rucksacks, would have been pretty hellish. Clearly someone has briefed the taxi drivers here on the sort of music that westerners like, and we spent the next hour or so enjoying instrumental versions of holiday classics including 'Guantanamera' and 'Careless Whisper,' as well as 'My Heart Will Go On,' just for James.

We were looking for deserted island paradise, and it's fair to say we found it. We were staying in an isolated resort to the north-west of Phu Quoc, which lay directly on the beach, complete with shaded hammocks that we spent many hours dozing in and cute little beach huts. It was a proper island getaway. However, with hindsight Phu Quoc seems to be the kind of place where money talks, and so our backpacker budget meant the accommodation was pretty 'rustic' – no air conditioning (which came at a $20 a night premium), no hot water and no electricity during daylight hours. Despite this, we actually really enjoyed the experience – even though James nearly expired part-way through the middle of the first night as a result of the heat!

We arrived at lunchtime and by 2.30pm we were settled on our own private beach, enjoying the sea breeze after the stifling heat of Saigon. Later we watched the sunset with only a couple of local fishermen and some cows for company. It was bliss.

My birthday itself was more adventurous than previous years: in the absence of public transport, we opted to hire a motorbike for the day (again, sorry mums, we promise we're not about to make a habit of it) and explore our surroundings. More by luck than judgement we made it all the way down the west coast to the port of An Thoi in the very southern tip, passing beautiful beaches and yet also some of the poorest Vietnamese homes we've encountered on the whole trip – huts literally fashioned from wood, palm leaves and, in a few cases, odd pieces of tarpaulin and corrugated metal. Despite this, most homes still (of course) have TV aerials. We had a slap-up lunch at one of the many resorts along Long Beach, along with a celebratory birthday beer.

Unfortunately, on the way home, disaster struck, and we managed to get a puncture, resulting in a massively flat tyre (even I noticed it was flat, which shows how bad it was). Through the wonders of sign language we tried to get a local mechanic to pump up the air, but to no avail – the tyre was well and truly dead. After a phone call to the resort owner, Mr Phuong, he agreed, somewhat bemusedly, to come and rescue us. There was nothing for it but to head back to our lunchtime restaurant and have another beer. Some 45 minutes later, we realised why he'd sounded bemused: he thought we were lost and couldn't find our way home again! We quickly put him right and so I found myself, on my birthday, watching the same mechanic from earlier performing a tyre change. Fortunately it was a quick job and we were soon chasing the sunset back to the resort. And I've learnt a lot about tyres as a result!

Hanoi is a city of 6m people. And 4.5m motorbikes. The motorbike is therefore king of the road, and you take your life in your hands every time you cross the street – although fortunately drivers seem pretty adept at missing pedestrians! As a result, the city is noisy and bustling all day – and all night – long.

This is also a city which has a definite street culture. Makeshift cafes crowd every corner, with packs of locals sitting on plastic stools drinking bia hoi (James takes a child-like joy in the fact that the word for beer sounds like 'Beer Ahoy!'). Traders sell their wares from overladen yokes and bicycles, everything from fruit to plastic containers on sale. We also saw a fair few pavement restaurants selling the ubiquitous pho (noodles) and, bizarrely, what looked to be sausages and chips – seems to be a favourite amongst the locals, although we're not quite sure how the dish has made its way into traditional Vietnamese cuisine!

Continuing the tradition of 'weird traditional entertainments we have seen', on our first night we caught a water puppet show – essentially, Punch and Judy in a paddling pool. The tradition grew up on the paddy fields of northern Vietnam, and the whole thing was surprisingly funny and entertaining, lots of slapstick humour and short, fast-paced sketches. The puppets are all operated from behind the scenes by people standing waist deep in water. As part of the performance, we got a chance to enjoy Vietnamese music provided by the accompanying band, including the Dan Bau, an instrument with one-string that's so thin it looks like they're playing thin air. It has a beautiful, almost haunting sound.

We visited some of the local temples although I think we've been a little bit spoilt by the delights of Japan and China – though good, the Vietnamese offerings don't quite match up. The Ho Loa prison (nicknamed Hanoi Hilton by the American POWs held there during the war) was interesting as an exercise in propaganda. It focuses on the awful treatment of Vietnamese communist prisoners by the French, all accompanied by ominous dum-dum-dum-da-dum scary-music. By contrast, it looks like the American POWs were held in some kind of Butlins-esque holiday camp – lots of photos of them making Christmas decorations and playing sports with big (forced?) grins on their faces. Veterans' accounts of the torture they endured here are (unsurprisingly) nowhere to be seen....

We were also in Hanoi for 30th April, Liberation day, marking 35 years since the country was united under communist rule. The celebrations centred around Hoan Kiem Lake, where most of the population (and their motorbikes) congregated. We saw one of the best (and certainly the biggest) fireworks displays either of us has ever been to, made even better by the crowd – you have never heard a reaction like it, gasps and cheers as almost every firework exploded. It was also quite a hairy experience as the fireworks explode a lot nearer the ground than at home: a few cardboard remnants of rockets and a fair number of sparks landed near us, fortunately with no injury caused to the crowd. The second the display finished, EVERYONE decided it was time to head for home, and a motorbike traffic jam built up within about 30 seconds, the sound of horns beeping coming from every direction. It's a fitting end to our sojourn in Hanoi.