Picking its way along the rocks on the banks of the Mekong in upcountry Laos was the most surreal procession I had ever seen. At its head was a woman in a conical Chinese straw hat, holding an upright 10ft bamboo pole in front of her with all the reverence of a religious ritual. Behind her, in descending order of size, trotted her children, bearing buckets and nets.

We, who were chugging up the river in a wooden boat, asked our guide what she was doing. “Just catching cicadas for lunch,” came the reply. Sure enough, the pole was coated with sticky rice, as adhesive as wallpaper paste, on to which the cicadas, startled by the procession and looking for a tree to land in safely, would alight and then find that they could not escape.

Laos is a poor country and many of its citizens, particularly in the minority tribes, live a subsistence life. But, unspoilt (or unenriched) by mass tourism, the Lao people are extraordinarily kind, gentle and open. There is little of the hassling or jostling that you experience in other SouthEast Asian countries. And the Westerners who go there see themselves as travellers rather than tourists.

First stop was Luang Prabang, a town bursting with Buddhist temples at the confluence of the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers. Because the rice paddies in the mountains around were being burnt to encourage a second crop, the air was shrouded in a permanent haze. This obscured any long views, but also lent the place a magical atmosphere. On our first day, the sun became a pink disc long before sunset, and then an orange full moon rose to hover next to the stupa (or pagoda) on the hill overlooking the town. Even our cynical teenagers were awestruck.

They were reduced to fits of giggles the next day, as we set off on an elephant trek. We had expected to trundle through the jungle, but no one warned us that our mounts would be asked to swim across a wide river, submersing themselves so far in the water that they threatened to douse us, too.

Once we were templed out – which happens all too quickly in Laos’s sweltering climate – we set off upriver to Kamu Lodge, an eco-retreat three hours’ north of Luang Prabang. The trip is breathtakingly beautiful, with overlapping mountain landscapes that could come straight out of a Chinese painting. But unlike China, this is a thinly populated land. Defiantly rural, we saw not a road or a street light or a concrete monstrosity in the whole trip. The few houses were constructed of bamboo with thatched palm roofs. And the only human activities were fishing, gold-panning and cicada-catching.

By constrast with Laos, its neighbour Vietnam is heaving with activity. There are tourists as well as travellers: plenty of middle-aged Americans and Australians. As a Westerner, you are constantly targeted for business.

Don’t be put off, though. When we arrived at the dock of Halong Bay, the famously beautiful collection of 3,000 limestone islands that rise vertically from the jade-tinted sea – a maritime version of China’s Guilin – we almost despaired. The coach park was overflowing, the boats were jostling and the place seemed gridlocked: a tourist hell.

Once at sea, however, in our private Vietnamese junk, we succumbed to heaven. The other tourists had vanished into their own picturesque junks, which added to, rather than subtracted from, the beauty of the seascape.

The boat was spacious, with bedrooms rather than cabins, and the food kept coming until we groaned with satiety. We were grateful to have arranged an overnight cruise, rather than a day trip, allowing us time to relax, as well as climb an island for an even better view and explore a stalactite-spangled cave that should have been the set for the Mines of Moria in The Lord of the Rings.

Back in Hanoi, we appreciated the graceful French colonial architecture while our teenage daughters had a burst of retail fever, compensating for all the culture they had been forced to absorb. You can pick up fake designer bags, luggage, jeans and sunglasses for a few dollars each. And you can have clothes and prescription glasses copied for not much more.

To the outsider, Vietnam barely feels communist. The cities are nearly as commercial as Bangkok, though the skyscrapers don't compete. The economy is capitalist, and the only real sign of a Communist Government is the turgid English-language newspaper that seems to date from the Soviet era. The locals – who seem just as business-minded as the Chinese – are thrilled to have escaped the shackles of what they call the “subsidy” times, when food was rationed and consumer goods were scarce.

But the communist legacy is all around you. You can, as we did, shuffle past the embalmed body of Ho Chi Minh (universally known as “Uncle Ho”) and visit his museum, which catalogues the atrocities of the “imperialist and feudalist” colonial West in a bizarrely kitsch manner. And in Saigon – aka Ho Chi Minh City – you can visit the War Remnants Museum, which tells the story of the Vietnam War from a North Vietnamese perspective, rather fascinating for our teenagers learning about the other side at school.

When you escape from the cities, you see another side of Vietnam. We spent a few days in Hoi An, a charming town halfway down the coast, where many 200-year-old houses remain, unscathed by American bombing. This was a trading post for the Japanese and Chinese in the 17th and 18th centuries, and their architectural heritage remains in whole streets of old merchant houses.

A Japanese covered bridge, built in the late 16th century, straddles a river inlet, and is guarded by a pair of stone monkeys at one end and dogs at the other. There is still a large Chinese community, whose gaudy temples outshine the marginally more restrained taste of the Vietnamese. Get up early and you can visit the picturesque fish market – or, more lazily, you can watch the traffic of sampans (little wooden boats) along the river from a restaurant balcony as dusk falls.

Hoi An is also the tailoring capital of Vietnam. I had a beautiful silk dress made for £10 and some trousers for £7. Both our daughters ordered elegant winter coats with silk lining for £15 and £20 each. If you take your favourite garment, they can copy it in a day. Alternatively, you can riffle through magazines and catalogues and they will make up the chosen piece for you.

On our last day, we took a boat trip into the Mekong Delta, most famous for its Vietnam War connotations. Now it is a trap more for tourists than American POWs. We trudged the same circuit as all the other boatloads, but were still amused to watch coconut candies being made in a village hut on an island and to eat an entire elephant ear fish, wrapped in a pancake. What does it look like? Why, an elephant ear, of course.

We went to Vietnam, because we had heard it described as “the new Thailand”. We wanted to get there before the description became true. It isn’t quite there yet, but it is well on its way. My advice, for what it’s worth, is to go before it becomes as overrun as its neighbour – and better still, visit Laos too, before it becomes the new Vietnam.

Need to know

Mary Ann Sieghart and family travelled with Travel Indochina (01865 268940, www. travelindochina.co.uk) and Qantas Airways, via Bangkok. A two-week trip, taking in Luang Prabang, Vientiane, Hanoi, Halong Bay, Hoi An, Ho Chi Minh City and the Mekong Delta, costs from £1,950 per adult and £1,650 per child (under 12), based on a family of four. The cost includes all flights, hotels, private transfers and tours.

Further information: The Lonely Planet guides to Laos and Vietnam are very useful, as are the Rough Guides. Andrew Pham’s Catfish and Mandala (Flamingo, £10.99) is a fascinating account of an American Vietnamese’s return to his country of birth.

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