Even on my fifth trip to Vietnam, this country totally surprised me - here's why

It's early morning in Tam Coc. The sun is yet to clear the jagged limestone karsts that rise from the paddy fields like the backbone of a dragon. The air is cool and still, the light soft and lemony. Traffic barely stirs, making this the perfect time to set out to explore Ninh Binh province on bicycles.

Our guide Long leads us through the town, quietly readying itself for another day of commerce. Shopkeepers and stall-holders, busy with brooms, look up to greet us. "Xin Chao," they chirp, the Vietnamese hello offered with dazzling smiles.

Within minutes we find ourselves in the midst of a magical landscape of sheer jungle-topped peaks laced with mirror-smooth waterways. On one bank, a long line of sampans awaits the tourists who will arrive later in the day. On another, a pagoda is dwarfed by the karst soaring behind it. It could be an oriental artwork if it weren't real.

Our route back into town takes us right under a long line of karsts flanked by rice paddies, and dotted with small family-run cafes and homestays. Deckchairs and umbrellas are being set out along the road for the day's trade.

The tourist websites describe Ninh Binh as the Halong Bay of the land. And like Halong Bay, it's best enjoyed before the crowds descend.

As we make our way back into town, I can sense the bike excursion lodging itself as a lasting memory, a moment of pleasure that will replay in my mind before crystallising into plans to return and do it all again.

But the morning adventure is really only the entree to Ninh Binh. The main course is a three-hour sampan journey through the World Heritage-listed Trang An Scenic Landscape Complex.

I'm dubious at first. After the morning's peace and quiet, the crowd lined up to board the tiny sampans is a little off-putting and the sun is fierce. But once we're underway and shaded by umbrellas, calm returns. Serenaded by the gentle slap of oars, we slip into a breathtaking primordial world of razor-sharp limestone towers, caves and grottos, a place where time seems to have stopped, where you want to pinch yourself to make sure it's real.

Then again, there's this nagging sense I've seen it before. Turns out I have.

Trang An starred in the 2017 Kong: Skull Island - its makers knew the location would perfectly suit their rollicking adventure movie. No surprise either, that I make a vow to myself to return - only next time I'll pack a cushion. Three hours on the steel bench of a sampan is murder on the backside.

Vietnam has been drawing me back since my first visit in 1994. On this fifth visit, I'm skipping the usual haunts - Ho Chi Minh City, the Mekong River Delta, Hoi An and Nha Trang - to explore new ground in Ninh Binh and Phu Quoc island way down south. And to reacquaint myself with Hue, the old imperial capital.

Straddling the Perfume River, Hue wears its history on its sleeve from the moment you land at Phu Bai airport, which was the forward operating base for US marines in 1968 during the weeks-long battle for the city. There's no thud of helicopter blades now, no screaming of gunnery sergeants, only a faint echo of the war that soundtracked life in the 1960s and '70s. But it's a more distant past I'm interested in on this visit and it's not hard to find.

It's there, perched on a hill a short drive from the city centre. The Mausoleum of Emperor Khai Dinh is the eccentric vanity project of the second-last ruler of the Nguyen Dynasty - a man despised for his fealty to the French colonial masters; an emperor in name only, who raised taxes across Vietnam to pay for the project.

Work began on the tomb in 1920, four years after Kai Dinh was installed on the throne. It wasn't completed until 1931, six years after his death. Much is made of the mausoleum's odd mashup of oriental and Gothic architectural styles and its concrete construction. But, for me, its true beauty is found inside.

The soaring Kai Thanh Hall is lined with lavish mosaic depictions of the four seasons. Closer inspection reveals they're made from intricately placed ceramic pottery shards. It's exquisite and obviously expensive. Admiring the craftsmanship, I'm reminded of the hardships imposed on the Vietnamese people to pay for this egocentric monument to imagined immortality.

A century before Kai Dinh built his folly, another Nguyen emperor, Minh Mang, constructed his much more serene and low-key memorial in a forest setting not far from Hue. Flanked by two lakes, his tomb is a favourite location for Vietnamese holding dainty parasols and wearing traditional ao dais, and striking poses for photos. Minh Mang is remembered more fondly than Kai Dinh because he was a reformer and patron of the arts.

It's an unhurried place, traditional in design and layout, which deserves to be savoured slowly.

Where Kai Dinh's tomb is all flash and sparkle, Minh Mang's is quiet poetry. The yin and yang tiles on the roofs of the halls, the arched bridges over streams, the portals framing views which could have been painted - all invite you to linger.

History declares itself proudly in the centre of Hue, where the giant Ngo Mon flag pole at the entrance to the Citadel dominates the skyline on the northern bank of the Perfume River. I remember it from childhood, when ABC TV news presenter James Dibble introduced reports in grainy black and white from the battle of Hue. Then, a giant National Liberation Front flag flew defiantly over the embattled city. Now it's the red and gold flag of a long unified Vietnam.

The sun beats down mercilessly as we tour the Citadel, the old imperial seat of power in Vietnam. We're shown a detailed model of what it looked like in its glory days before much of it was left in ruins by war. Outside, there are glimpses of its former splendour, the most striking being the restored Kien Trung Palace, which our guide tells us proudly is Vietnam's version of Versailles.

Another chapter of imperial history is opened at night with a visit to Hue's Azerai La Residence hotel for dinner. Built around the former French colonial governor's mansion, the hotel is a crisp celebration of 1930s nautical moderne style. Take in the leather club chairs, dark wooden floorboards and ceiling fans turning lazily in the high ceilings, the streamlined deco details, and imagine yourself as a French colonial fonctionnaire taking refuge from the heat and humidity with a Dubonnet and a weeks' old copy of Le Figaro shipped from home.

The French influence is easy to spot in Hue. A cyclo ride, the perfect way to take in the city at a leisurely pace, will take you past the prestigious Quoc Hoc High School, established by the French in 1896. It is famous for its French architecture and its alumni, including Ho Chi Minh, who was expelled in 1908 for his revolutionary activities.

Of course, that colonial influence is not only expressed in bricks and mortar. There's a thriving coffee culture in Hue, which was introduced by the French in the 19th century but has since been taken in adventurous new directions by the Vietnamese. We stop at Kodo to try a Hue specialty: salted coffee, a blend of strong filtered coffee, sweetened condensed milk and salted whipped cream. Even if you're more of an espresso type, Kodo is worth a visit just to enjoy its peaceful garden setting. It's cool - literally and figuratively - with plenty of shady spots to sit and enjoy that cup of coffee and the kind of hip design features you'd find in an inner-city cafe back home.

Awaiting me on Phu Quoc, the island off the southern tip of Vietnam, is a surreal interpretation of an imaginary past.

To walk into the JW Marriott Phu Quoc Emerald Bay Resort & Spa is to leave reality behind and enter a Harry Potter-style fantasy. The first thing I notice is the scale. There are bookcases two storeys tall, stuffed with ancient volumes. A swing seat hangs from the lofty ceiling. When I stop craning my neck, other whimsical touches come into focus. A stuffed animal with wings and horns in a glass dome. An old vaulting horse. Yellowed globes of the world. Time-worn binding presses. A fireman's helmet. Pure whimsy.

But this is not Hogwarts; it's architect and interior designer Bill Bensley's interpretation of what an idealised 1930s French university in the tropics might look like. On checking in I'm given a handbook to Lamarck University and assigned a faculty, the building in which my room is located.

There's a spectacular view of the palm-fringed beach but it's the room itself which has my attention: the vast bathroom with a deep freestanding bath and a rain shower head set high in the ceiling; the huge oriental-style wardrobe trimmed in red; the framed antique prints of seashells; the day bed on the balcony, which is overlooked by an enormous ceiling fan.

Everything conspires to make you feel small, like a child discovering a new and fascinating place for the first time. I give in to that feeling and feel those workaday stresses begin to dissolve.

Exploring the grounds, it's hard not to smile. At the colourful and playful "faculties", one topped by a dragonfly, another fronted by a relief of a giant seashell. At the arched walkways that play tricks on my sense of scale. At the murals reprising old French advertising hoardings for Air France and Cemoi Chocolatier. At the displays of old sporting memorabilia, faded by time but utterly fascinating.

I could spend my entire time on Phu Quoc in this resort, but there's an attraction I'm desperate to experience: the Hon Thom cable car, which travels almost eight kilometres out over the sea to nearby islands. I'm not disappointed; the views over fishing villages, jungle-cloaked hills and the small boats plying the sea are spectacular. And they are a welcome counterpoint to the make-believe world of Phu Quoc's Europe-themed Sunset Town from where the cable car departs. It's a bit like the Venetian in Las Vegas, only outside, pitched at the Asian tourist who can't afford to go to Italy or France.

From up here, though, you get the sense there is much more to Phu Quoc. Forests, waterfalls, sublime empty beaches.

It's then I make another vow to return.

The writer was a guest of Vietnam Airlines