Good morning from Vietnam

Travelling alone I feel like a mid-life adolescent going through a growth spurt

Here I am on a boat trip off Phu Quoc island, Vietnam. Travelling solo meant I made an effort to talk to fellow tourists, and on the boat I met an Indian expat living in Saigon who gave me coffee-shop tips and shared a freshly-ground cup with me.

Hello and thank you for reading The Honesty Box today. Last time, I wrote about taking risks and getting out of your comfort zone.

I’m on one of those types of adventures right now: travelling solo in Vietnam. This is the first time I’ve had a chance to sit and reflect, after three days of sweaty cities, buses, boats and general bustle.

It was night-time when I landed at Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC, or Saigon to many who live here), a mass of nine million people that sits on the cusp of the Mekong Delta in the south of the country.

As the plane flew low, I could feel the hustle of the city: mopeds and headlights and palm trees and rooftops.

Shall I sit in a Saigon rooftop pool with a lychee martini at lunchtime or shall I lie diagonally on my double bed for a snooze?

After a few days in calm, green Singapore, it felt alien, and I thought: I want to go home. Why did I choose to go on holiday on my own? I’m never doing this again, I decided.

There are highs and lows of travelling by yourself. When I get the highs, my mind whirls with excitement.

With every blink I see something different, novel and strange, my brain like a machine trying to process the new information, my thoughts open to the possibility of anything happening and the sense of freedom immense.

And when I feel low (which luckily isn’t often), my thoughts go inward: who is this middle-aged woman with a scarf around her neck and a straw hat tied to her rucksack, sitting alone in a hotel lobby? What kind of cliché has she become?

Then the feeling flips: how glorious to have the means to go away and do precisely what I want, whenever I want.

Shall I sit in a Saigon rooftop pool with a lychee martini at lunchtime or shall I lie diagonally on my double bed for a snooze?

And later, what about people-watching over a drink at a five-star hotel, dressed in my new frock cinched at the waist with a 1970s Gucci belt on long-term loan from my mother? Or a potter for presents from the market instead? (The cocktail and the Gucci were clear winners.)

Perhaps these are different kinds of cliché, but who cares.

On the rooftop bar of The Rex hotel in Ho Chi Minh City, where the Americans briefed journalists in early morning meetings known as “5 o’clock follies” during the Vietnam War. Not the best photo, but you get the idea.

I know I’m having a good time when even the most touristy experiences make me smile.

Sitting on a wooden boat on the Mekong River yesterday in a neon lifejacket with 14 other travellers I laughed at the irony as multiple tourists in identical gear on identical boats waved and took photos of us, and we of them.

Previously I would have rolled my eyes at being part of such herds, alongside people in caps and shorts holding up their smartphones to take pictures of packets of sweets or noodle machines - but accepting it for exactly what it was made the experience more enjoyable.

Here in Vietnam, I feel like I’m going through some kind of mid-life adolescent growth-spurt, though one that involves little alcohol, early nights and waking naturally at dawn, excited and ready for life’s new lessons.

This emerging me (Lucy the lark?) seems to appear when I go away by myself – I felt like this in Bali when I went there alone a few years ago, and I’m happy the feeling is back.

When I first did a long-haul solo trip, to India in 2012, the scarf-wearing feeling was sometimes overwhelming, but by the end of the holiday I relaxed and found the freedom – literally when I jumped on the back of a local’s motorbike for a lift to the market, no helmet provided (sorry mum!).

Drinking a freshly-squeezed melon juice at a roadside cafe in Can Tho, a large city on the Mekong Delta. Part of the joy of solo travel is choosing exactly what I want to do and when - and shortly after this I went to bed - at 9pm

On the Mekong Delta trip yesterday, I met a woman called Dani, who was travelling alone for the first time. She’d left a husband and two teenagers at home, and said she had the urge for an adventure, to do something for herself.

Dani was the only one in our group to try balancing on a makeshift step-on swing across the river, and chose to row a boat down a narrow canal alone, while I stayed on land.

We bonded over our mid-life adventures: even though our lives are quite different we both had the urge to be free – to be brave, to say yes, to take the risk.

I’ll raise a glass to that.

Things I like

How to be the real you

On my trip to India a decade ago, I took a book with me called ‘How to be yourself and why it matters’ by Professor Stephen Joseph, with the vague intention of ‘finding myself’ in its pages after taking morning yoga classes.

Needless to say I lugged that book around without reading it, but I intend to when I get back from Vietnam – Prof Joseph argues that when you’re authentic, by saying what you mean and meaning what you say, you’re happier. You can take his authenticity quiz here.

Dancing until midnight

As many of you know, I’m a massive fan of dancing - and sleeping too - and have previously written about the DJ Annie Mac’s Before Midnight club night. It got a write-up in The New York Times this week, in a piece by British freelance journalist Anna Codrea-Rado.

I must admit to being envious of Anna for writing the feature, but on the flipside (there’s always another way to look at things, right?) it’s made me realise that writers like me can successfully pitch to publications like the NYT. Perhaps a piece on mid-life trips alone? I’m adding it to my list of dream commissions.