“A thousand pounds for a haircut?!” I hear you say. “But you could feed an African village for a year… buy two Hermès belts… how can any hairdo be worth that sort of money?”

Either you need your head examined, expensively, or you’re tidying topiary for a palace. Who spends a grand on something that’s going to grow out?

The answer is that oligarchs’ wives and assorted A-listers spend £1,000 for a haircut. The likes of Lady Gaga, Linda Evangelista, Michelle Pfeiffer, Salma Hayek and Angelina Jolie. Pippa Middleton goes to the maestro’s salon – or hairspa as it’s known. And the Duchess of Cambridge? If she does, nobody’s saying.

Welcome to the world of Rossano Ferretti, the 53-year-old coiffeur who’s leading a hair revolution. Ferretti is to 2013 what Vidal Sassoon – creator of the five-point cut and Ferretti’s mentor – was to the Sixties.

You haven’t heard of him? That’s forgivable, as he only opened his hairspa in London last year. But he’s ginormous. He has 20 hairspas from Beverley Hills to Milan, is a global spokesman for L’Oreal, runs hair seminars from China to Mumbai, and has world-wide academies where he teaches his approach. He’s the only global hairdressing brand.

Ferretti has more USPs than you’ll find in 16 alphabets. He devised and patented The Method, a unique technique for cutting hair (about which, more later). He has created and patented a special pair of scissors: texturising ones, that snip a delicate 18 per cent instead of the habitual 30.

He claims to have invented the Invisible Cut (full of layers, but you don’t see them). And, along with ace colourist Carl Dawson (who does Kate Moss, Sienna Miller and Gwyneth), is developing a unique hair colouring procedure (watch this space).

The Rossano Ferretti Hairspa experience
But is this all the Emperor’s New Clothes? Are we talking nothing more than clever marketing and gimmickry?

I decide to put my tresses to the test. The Rossano Ferretti Hairspa (all 5,500 square foot of it for just 14 hair stations) is in a four-storey, Georgian townhouse in Mayfair’s St George Street.

A good-looking, besuited doorman spirits me up the sweeping staircase beneath the bespoke Fabergé black glass chandelier. Upstairs there are black floorboards, hair products displayed in antique frames and a 1936 perm machine that belonged to Ferretti’s grandparents. (He is a third generation hairdresser.)

There are no mirrors; another first. Women, he believes, shouldn’t suffer seeing themselves in transition.

And there’s no thudding music. Even the noise of hair dryers is kept to a separate room. Forget hairspa. This is a hair temple.

The Method: a hair innovation
Ferretti appears in a jacket, waistcoat and patterned scarf. (Like the children of the cobbler who has no shoes, he’s bald.) He is stylish, charming and solicitous. He takes my hair in his hands and tuts: “Whoever did this, sorry. This is not the right job for them.” (It was one of the guys at Nicky Clarke’s, actually.)

Then he sprays my hair with essence of unicorn’s tears before taking out his diamond-encrusted platinum scissors. Not really. What he actually does is pick up strands of my hair, let go of them and, as they are falling, snip away. Cutting the hair in motion. The Method.

As he works, we chat about his earlier life, working on catwalk shows for Armani, St Laurent and Dior, and shoots with Richard Avedon. Ferretti started in the trade at 14.

Now he jets from LA (“hair colour city”) to New York (“all about blond and blow out”) to London (“volume and bounce.”)

He did Jennifer Lawrence’s, Kate Hudson’s and Reese Witherspoon’s hair for the Oscars. His has been a meteoric rise from humble beginnings. But how does he justify his charges?

“Quality,” he says. “In the USA people happily pay for it. It’s different in Europe.”

It’s true that Nicky Clarke and Paul Edmonds charge £500 for new clients. But across the Atlantic, Frederic Fekkai, Sally Hershberger and Gibson cost $750, $850 and $950.

“The truth is, I don’t want clients. I’m too busy. I have a brilliant team for doing haircuts.”

As the Italian hairdresser della celebrita cuts my hair, he zeroes in on the way it falls, its structure and texture, rather than forcing it into an unnatural shape.

“The scissors don’t do the haircut, they’re an elongation of my hands,” says Rossano Scissorhands, swooping and curving his body as he works. “I move myself around the hair, not stand there like a stone.”

Hmmm. But doesn’t any halfway decent stylist take note of the natural movement and structure of the hair? And as for the scissors with gaps, aren’t they really just thinning scissors?

He stops and contemplates. “Hair grows vertically and with The Method technique, I cut it holding the scissors vertically, not horizontally,” he replies. “In this way, we achieve a natural movement of the hair which is not geometric or box-like.”

And the scissors? “Usually thinning ones have two blades with teeth. But The Method texturising ones have one plain blade and the other with teeth…” (See a photo gallery on Ferretti’s site.)

Was it worth it?
He takes three inches off my hair. It’s far more than I’d have suggested, though I had told him to do whatever he wanted. Well, you would, wouldn’t you? You don’t go around telling £200–a-second brain surgeons how to work. Fifteen minutes later Ferretti is finished. (OK, a mere £67 a minute.)

The results are fantastic. A sort of bob de nos jours. Full of life. Natural. Flattering. Afterwards friends comment that they’ve never seen my hair looking so good; and my children say it looks professionally blow-dried, permanently.

Crucially, it looks just as good when I wash and go myself. It’s grown-up hair. Hair the way it’s meant to look, not following trends or forced to do things that it doesn’t want to do. Hair that has self -assurance.

When it grows out
But there’s a problem with the haircut: it grows. And I don’t have £1,000 for another. So two months later I take a photo of my original Ferretti-ed head to my local salon and say, “Copy that, please.”

Now I’m not stupid. Granted my local is not a hairspa, but it’s not just any old salon.

It’s owned by a famed snipper, who’s no slouch himself. In his day, he’s done TV presenters and pop stars. And he has a nice view of the railway line. So it should be a bit like taking a designer dress to be copied in India. And I’ve done that a few times.

Anyway, he says “no problem” and chops away. But maybe it’s because his scissors thin by 30 per cent, maybe it’s because he cuts horizontally, but whatever it is, I end up looking like Richard III. And weeping. And £70 poorer.

This means that, just 24 hours later, I find myself paying to have my hair cut – again. This time, the hairdresser, the beautiful Pol Garcia, snips elegantly. He cuts my hair as it falls. He does yoga-style bends around my body. The result has volume, bounce and elegance. It costs £150.

Ah! Did I tell you that he cuts Pippa Middleton’s hair? Oh, and that he works at the Rossano Ferretti Hairspa? Ferretti has a talented team who offer his cuts at a snip of the price.

I’m sold on The Method. One of these days I’d love to have another cut by Ferretti. After all, it only costs 1.4p a follicle.

It appeals to me when I arrive at Grayshott Spa and know from the minute I walk into the entrance hall that I can wear a white robe from now on. ‘You don’t have to worry about labels on your tracksuit or whether you have the correct evening clothes. Just bring trackies and robust walking boots’, was all Vicki Edgson, nutritionist, global spa retreat leader and health consultant, had insisted. ‘The rest of the time, you probably won’t even get out of your dressing gown’. And yes, there is a One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest aspect to the grande dame of spas with its fifty-somethings padding around in slippers and white robes.

Grayshott is under an hour from London and suddenly I am in utter peace and tranquillity and the former country seat of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Welcome to Comfort Central with Surrey bourgeois décor trying to go modern, gigantic double beds (or two in one football-stadium-sized room), lots of candles, an apple orchard, sauna and comforting middle-aged matrons in white coats.

There’s a cigar room turned bar with a water menu from around the world (and wine); and a billiards room that has morphed into a cinema with pink walls, where they also hold lectures on everything from how to dress to life coaching.

I’m here for a ‘Vital Health – Weight Management’ retreat with Vicki. It’s normally a seven-day retreat, but I plan to do it in two and a half days (but only because I’m on a press trip that doesn’t last longer). Vicki starts from the position that people eat too much and of the wrong things and at the wrong times of the day, which is hardly reinventing the wheel. But this turns out to be not your bog-standard detoxing retreat. She looks at key factors essential for long-lasting, sustainable, empowering energy – known as the Vital Force in Eastern Medicine.

There are eight of us, including two women who have done an extreme diet and lost seven stone between them. We start our retreat in the traditional dining room with a group chat over a plated supper that wouldn’t stretch the stomach of a Chihuahua dog. There’s no going back for seconds; in fact, adding pepper would probably tip the balance into what’s considered over-eating here.

But the food is healthy and terribly good (think grilled fish and saffron gnocchi) and all the better for being eaten after a digestive enzyme tablet, apparently. Plus the accompanying basil water has anti-bacterial qualities. ‘Would you like water or water?’ asks the waitress, offering herb-infused aqua or Grayshott’s own brand. ‘You should be running to the loo every half hour,’ warns Vicki, cheerily.

Vicki tells us that the next few days will be filled with plenty of outdoor cardiovascular exercise, gym circuit class, fresh air, sleep and treatments to help to ‘up-regulate the metabolism,’ (nutritionist speak for fat-burning.) This is to be interspersed with stuff to calm the nerves – mind-relaxing T’ai Chi, Chi Gung, yoga and suchlike – to prepare us for ‘proper, restorative’ sleep.

In between, we will be meeting for three meals a day – breakfast being the largest, lunch being of the help yourself variety, (don’t get excited: they give you a teeny Grayshott plate with coloured stripes denoting how much each of protein, carbs and greens you can have,) and supper the lightest, (think a palm-sized portion).

We will also be knocking back our body fluid ratio in herbal teas: cayenne pepper and lemon in the morning to stimulate liver and cleansing; turmeric (if you want something that tastes like a half-washed take-away curry container); Japanese Hojicha tea for balancing the stress hormones (known as an adaptogen, as needed by the adrenal glands); and Harmonise tea instead of Mogadon.

We are up early for a racy walk around what feels like most of the 700 autumnal acres of National Trust land that backs onto Grayshott’s 47 acres. It’s exhilarating. Then there’s a jam-packed schedule. It’s not faddish, essentially English and does what matters incredibly well. The therapists are unrivalled (one was a masseur here for 40 years; and most of them have worked here for more than 20 years) and the treatments range from beautifying treats to Hopi Ear Candling and food intolerance analysis. But we follow Vicki’s directives when it comes to treatments; when it comes to everything, in fact.

I have a Body Composition Analysis with Ravi (a personal trainer and International and World Cup hockey player) who promises I’ll get taller afterwards (it’s something to do with tightening my muscles, if I remember correctly). He measures my water, protein, fat and mineral content. Then I have an Oriental Wisdom with Catherine which is unique to Grayshott and one of the best massages I’ve ever had. It incorporates Tui-na massage, Shiatsu, oils with Chinese herbs and a bit of magic.

There’s my back massage with Pam from Bradford who delights me as much with her talents honed over decades as her tales of when she was a Young Communist. And the body scrub where I’m slavered in algae and wrapped in plastic like a demented fish roll. We also do a walking mediation, wandering the beautiful grounds together in silence. ‘I don’t mind if you hug a tree,’ laughs our guide Faye, who oozes spirituality and has worked in hospices. It’s the staff who make Grayshot: they’re friendly, helpful and make me feel so mothered.

We spend much of our time with Vicki, a friendly hurricane with boundless energy and a TV presenter’s presentation. She’s also a numero uno exhibit of the glow, pert bum and cheery disposition that comes from fitness, good food and a positive attitude to life. ‘We all have a choice about our own wellbeing,’ she says. Later she asks us to think about what we’d do if we had two hours to ourselves every day. It may be boring that I say I’d like to read but it makes me decide to implement changes in my life.

Over our time together, Vicki proves that eating more slowly, (she terms this ‘conscious eating’ but really it’s masticating and not nearly as much fun as it’s semiotic cousin); selecting the right balance of foods for each individual (she suggests I miss out sugar and caffeine); and addressing eating issues, (show me a woman who doesn’t have any, and I’ll show you a liar) are key to changing our attitude to our appearance and weight. Each of us in the group has specific difficulties that need to be addressed, and Vicki works with forensic focus to ensure that we all have our own plan by the time we leave. Mine includes vitamin recommendations and a visit to Dr Marion Gluck, London’s hormonal health guru and one of the country’s leading holistic doctors.

The group dynamic is vital for the success of this type of retreat. ‘You may not want to sit down to yet another meal with everyone here every day,’ says Vicki. But, surprisingly, eating together is a hoot. Even more surprisingly I feel full after the food that we’re given. We learn a lot about nutrition and listening to other women’s problems around their food habits and addictions is enlightening. ‘It’s a sharing and caring atmosphere, with much laughter and empathy, isn’t it?’ says Vicki. I leave with a smile on my lips, a bounce in my step, a little less lardy and feeling totally refreshed. Even my lingering cold stays behind in Surrey.

If you’re the type who has tons of clothes but never anything to wear, read on. Once we Brits thought that professional style advice was best left to our Transatlantic cousins. We legged it in department stores at the sight of consultants wearing knee-high foundation and extreme designer clothes: reincarnated Stepford Wives telling us which colours and styles of clothes (and makeup) to wear.

We preferred instead to be amateurish in our garment purchases – either going for DIY or stupidly relying on shop assistants to give us honest, objective advice. (Hello, who’s on commission here?)

Either way, all too often we ended up with expensive and uncoordinated items. Impulse buys and age inappropriate clothes. Rubbish sales purchases. And clothes that will fit one day, honest.

Now Notting Hillybillies, sharp investors and slebs are turning to professional help. “Personal stylists have gone big,” confirms Fiona Golfar, editor at large of British Vogue. More specifically, they’re hiring stylist Annabel Hodin to help them make their sartorial choices. She’s an erstwhile model – she was talent spotted by US Vogue’s Anna Wintour – and is the fashion editors’ favourite.

There’s scarcely a glossy magazine editor or newspaper fashionista who hasn’t sought her help. After all, the girl has pedigree: she has created looks for Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger and Bryan Ferry, styling their photo shoots. And the same for Helena Bonham Carter, Rachel Weisz and Mariella Frostrup.

Annabel offers a bespoke service that includes consultations, wardrobe edits, shopping trips and follow ups in person and/or on the phone. Initially she comes to your house or office – the latter for a consultation, ideal for those who feel shy about a lady going through their drawers within an hour of meeting. If she’s doing a home visit, you’d best wear good underwear – you’ll be trying on clothes.

With refreshing frankness and energy, she’ll go through your wardrobe –and with you, she’ll select looks that work for you, find gaps in your closet, identify what you think you want and need and discuss what she reckons would work. Yep, time to chuck the vintage if you’re old enough to have worn it first time round.

After her efficient edit, you’ll have a leaner wardrobe. (Mine was positively slimline.) Then she’ll put your clothes into outfits to see what’s missing, and together you’ll set out to fill them. So now to shopping! Yipee! She has already scoured the shops for weeks prior to meeting you, understands what suits you probably better than you know yourself, and knows where to find everything….whether it be designer or high street. She’ll whizz you through West London’s stylish boutiques and on to Selfridges or perhaps to St John’s Wood High Street’s Joseph – which has clothes not carried elsewhere – for core items. And all done with military precision and a brilliant eye.

Annabel helps you buy key pieces that will last: simple, timeless cuts. She avoids cheap fabrics, cuts and colours. She goes for multiple buys if it’s a vital core item. (Genius. It never occurred to me to buy more than one of something that suits me. “It saves one for best,” she says. “If it’s a classic, you can have it in more than one colour.”) She discourages shopping in the sales. “Only if you already know it’s the right size and colour.” And when you’re all alone and that shopping urge comes upon you, she recommends that you, “Only go where they’ll reimburse!”

Having an appointment with Annabel may be the some of the best money you’ve ever spent. It was for me. When I sold my ‘rejects’ to a second hand dress agency, I made more money than she charges for a consultation. Oh, and she gave me top tips on everything from beauty, my hair cut and colour to personal trainers. Friends keep telling me how good I look. For the first time in my life, I have a capsule wardrobe that works and can be updated (inexpensively) with accessories. For the first time ever, I can’t say that the only clothes I like are the ones I’m about to buy…

Under-eye bags big enough to carry your weekend gear? Crows’ feet, rabbit lines (on the nose), smokers’ lines?

What about muffin-top tummy or basement-level libido and energy? Or maybe tits/moobs going south, saggy bum or wattle (that’s a wobbly double chin)?

If you are bothered by any of these and want to understand more about the best way to banish the problem, high50’s Anti-Ageing Debate could help you. Dr Daniel Sister, an advocate for the scalpel and needles methods, will fight it out with our award-winning beauty journalist Jo Fairley, who favours the potions and lotions route. Interventions of a scientific kind will do battle with proponents of skin-deep solutions.

Dr Daniel Sister is a world-renowned hormone and anti-ageing specialist. He is a needles-not-unguents man who has practised for 40 years at many of the world’s premier clinics (including Dr Sebagh’s).

He has written several acclaimed books, is published in medical journals, has treated thousands of men and women, and regularly appears on TV. Phew!

His research studies and expertise are sought after by the beauty, anti-ageing, nutrition and complementary medical communities.

Science in the salon
Dr Sister works in London at BeautyWorksWest, a beauty clinic with slick, vibrating pedicure thrones and scented treatment rooms, where a client can go in as a sexagenarian and come out as a sex bomb.

When he started out in the Seventies, he worked in a hospital with rheumatic disease sufferers. “Most of them were are old and, in trying to help them, I got into anti-ageing treatments,” he says.

Salon-administered science appeals to the aesthete in him. He uses only methods that are approved in Europe and the States.

He believes in science-based interventions rather than snake oil and designer potions, and in tackling ageing from the inside out. “Everything I use has an evidence base,” he says. “It’s all backed by research and reasonable-size case studies.”

He finds new treatments by attending international conventions and seminars and quizzing other experts about developments in the field.

Hence le docteur (he is from France) has managed to introduce an incroyable seven anti-ageing ‘firsts’ to the UK market, including ‘Dracula’ (aka Platelet-Rich Plasma) therapy.

This treatment has attracted worldwide attention. Not surprising, then, that rather than flogging pots of nice-smelling creams, you’ll always find him talking about things like IPL or Radio Frequency, and Infra Red and Polaris; all designed to give if not quite eternal youth, then something not too far from it.

Needles over knives
He doesn’t do surgery. “I prefer needles to knives,” he says. “But I refer people [for surgery] when required.”

Mostly he thinks surgery is unnecessary. There has been such progress in the development of non-invasive treatments, and most procedures (from reconstruction to fat removal) can now be done non-invasively.

“Fat removal, for example, can now be achieved with ultrasound, laser and radio frequency,” he says.

He’s also a top doc when it comes to balancing hormones, one of the best ways to fight the ageing process. When our hormones are in balance, the body generates new tissue and more energy, and can fight disease. (A reduction in hormone production is the probable cause of the growing incidence of premature ageing.)

Dr Sister’s anti-ageing armoury:
YOUTH: pills to boost hormone production
His beauty and wellness products include YOUTH food supplements, which re-boot the production of the growth hormone in women d’un certain age (and old male bangers, too). If you want to get technical, YOUTH tackles ageing with Arginine, Glutamine and Lysine (amino acids and marine plant extracts, to the uninitiated), which promote skin radiance, sleep and energy levels.

Dracula Therapy: injections of blood, vitamins and amino acids
Dracula Therapy is his most popular full-throttle age-defier and uses the patient’s blood as an injectable treatment. A small blood sample is separated by centrifugation into red blood cells, clear serum and platelets. Vitamins and Amino Acids are then added to create a super-charged serum, which is injected back into the skin.

“There are no disadvantages,” he says. “Nobody can be allergic to his own blood. It’s efficient, proven, and the first step towards using stem cells.”

Dermal fillers: a new nose
He has pioneered non-surgical nose re-sculpting by injecting dermal fillers – gel-like substances that are totally safe – which gives a patient a new nose in ten minutes. He uses Hyaluronic acid – which is biocompatible with human Hyaluronic acid – to create ooh-ah faces and hands.

Injections of carbon dioxide and Botulin Tox
In Carboxy therapy, he injects Carbon Dioxide Gas (CO2) to tackle stretch marks, cellulite and dark eye bags.

It doesn’t stop there. He’s been doing surgery- free breast enhancement treatments for years, with Botulin Tox and injections, including super-charged plasma.

Lipo, light therapy and lasers
He also performs several methods of non-surgical liposuction. One of his fat- busting treatments (MELT) combines radio frequency, magnetic waves, ultrasound and light therapy and another uses a non- invasive laser to melt the F-word from within fat cells.

“Conservative” Brits
For those souls who think creams and serums are efficient, he has this to say: “There’s not one scientific study to show that they work, but many to prove that they don’t. There’s the ‘feel good factor’ – they feel good on your skin, but they don’t penetrate deep enough.”

Contrastingly, he can find no downsides to scientific intervention.

With so much being discovered in anti-ageing treatments, we’re on the brink of a brave, young world. He says: “Only five years ago, ultrasound and radio frequency weren’t even used. Each time we open a door, there are ten more [discoveries] behind,” he says. “There’s a lot to be explored with stem cells.”

The Israelis are pioneers in creating equipment for age-defying treatments. The gold for hormone therapies goes to the Americans. The injectable treatments medal gets scooped by the Europeans.

And the Brits? “They’re very traditional and conservative,” he says. “They don’t embrace the techniques fast.”

Which, paradoxically, is good news for high50 readers. Otherwise, Dr Sister wouldn’t need to thump his tub at the high50 Anti-Ageing Debate this month. And we’d miss out on deciding who’s right.

Jo Fairley, high50’s beauty editor, is putting her elegant neck on the line in defence of topical treatments. We salute Dr Sister for joining her there.

Everyone leaves there having made at least one change in their lives. That’s what I’m told about Kamalaya health spa in Koh Samui, Thailand. Guests rid themselves of multiple pounds (in weight and currency), have a turn of direction in their heart-attack-headed lives, and rejuvenate bodies more burnt out than a forest fire.

The hottest trend in travel is to invest in your body. And Kamalaya, one of the world’s leading destination spas, is the place to do it.

It offers healing hands aplenty and Eastern traditions alongside the best of the West, including state-of-the-art diagnostic procedures. This translates into diverse healing and spiritual approaches: a holistic combo that is targeted at the mind, body and soul.

There is a crack squad of practitioners, encompassing traditional Chinese medicine, naturopathy, homeopathy, Ayurveda and energy healing, as well as registered nurses, an allopathic doctor, Thai therapists and visiting guru types.

Shoulders and chakras
I’m at Kamalaya to release shoulders that have more knots than a yacht covers in a storm, to catch up on several lifetimes of deprived sleep, and perhaps to buff my soul and open my chakras. My companion, my Ritalin-filled 17-year-old nephew Henry, wants to find alternative approaches to his ADHD (or rather, that’s what his mother wants).

The location on its own starts the healing process. The spa is on a hillside of swaying palms and tropical foliage borrowed from a Gaugin painting. It sits beside a crescent-shaped beach and an aquamarine lagoon. It’s a Garden of Eden with plants that probably talk, lotus ponds and ginormous orange butterflies

There is a herbal steam cavern hewn into the rock and a Buddhist monks’ cave. It’s a close to heaven as you can get while still alive.

Who’s here…
Here you’ll find the likes of Annie Lennox, Oliver Stone (who lost more than a stone), stressed-out investment bankers and ladies who don’t lunch. There are singletons who meet at the dining table for singles, and couples on a health kick. And the hard-core detoxers whose treatments include the dreaded colonics.

Then there’s the founders: Karina Stewart, a doctor of traditional Chinese medicine who also trained in anthropology and wafts around on a spiritual cloud dispensing healing energy; and her husband John, a yogi who devoted 16 years to spiritual studies in a Himalayan community.

…and what they’re doing
The spa offers 70 treatments and programmes, from weight loss to yoga. The latest is the sleep programme, using naturopathy and Chinese therapies to take people to the land of zizz on a buckwheat pillow.

Days are also sugar-free-jam-packed with activities, from aqua aerobics to mediation and Qi Gong. Recalling a meditation session at Kamalaya, Fergie, the Duchess of York, wrote in her memoir: “We sat cross-legged on mats around the fire, with everyone chanting Om.” Bring on the incense, bruv.

The food is organic and fresh, combining ancient Asian healing traditions and the latest Western nutritional research, and including diets derived from Ayurveda and naturopathy. The precept is that when the diet is wrong, medicine is of no use; and when the diet is correct, there’s no need for medicine.

The chef works from the belief that we are much more than what we eat – but that what we eat helps us to be more than what we are. It’s to this end that the mini-bar contains roasted pumpkin kernels and aloe vera juice.

My programme starts with a body bio-impedance analysis (which measures body composition electronically and rudely informs me on a printout that I’m a little overweight) and after which I have a delicious meal. Black cod and banana blossom salad, where have you been all my life?

I also have a wellness consultation with a naturopath, magic-handed massages (including Chei Nei Tsing, a Taoist tummy massage), and nutritional advice. I spend a particularly interesting hour with Smitha Jayakumar, a one-time Buddhist nun who lived in a monastery for ten years and is now a spiritual life coach.

All the treatments work on an energetic, emotional and spiritual level. But does it do the trick?

Well, yes and no. I am shadowing Henry (in the interests of journalism and at the instruction of his mother) and writing articles. So I don’t really experience the essential switching-off element of the programme.

But by the end there’s definitely a spiritual spring in my step and a luminescent quality to my face. Not to mention a trimmer body, achieved partly by so often climbing the hill to the dining area and treatment rooms.

Some people say they leave Kamalaya with reignited spirits and hearts, and with more than Band-Aid to deal with their wounds. We leave feeling healthy, happy and relaxed. (So that’s more than one change in our lives, then.)

Most spas claim to make you feel well; Kamalaya actually delivers. It does what it says on the tin. And more.

If I said ‘menopause retreat’ to you, what would you imagine? Something involving California, teepees and chanting, probably. But no, I am at Grayshott Spa in Surrey, convening for a five-day break.

Although this solid country mansion has something of the air of a sanatorium about it, it is surrounded by 47 acres of lovely green stuff, mature trees and bunnies. Alfred Lord Tennyson shacked up here (and that was before they had an open-air pool).

Now, the rooms are traditional-lite, their mini-bars stocked with nothing but water (but you can sneak out to the farm shop just across the road). And if the food is a bit Good Housekeeping, the atmosphere is quite ‘Om’ enough for the experience ahead.

It is to avoid a different experience from one that previous generations have had to suffer that we’re undergoing this.The number of women in the world who have passed their 50th birthday is expected to rise dramatically from 467 million in 1990 to an estimated 1,200 million by 2030. This figure – caused both by population increase and prolonged life expectancy – means that many of the women will spend more than a third of their lives beyond The Big M. In other words, post-menopause.

What happens to the body
During menopause, oestrogen production declines, leading to a reduction in bone density and an overwhelming list of possible symptoms. These include hot flushes, night sweats, interrupted sleep, headaches, bad breath, bloating, mood swings, loss of confidence, depression, heart disease, dementia and loss of libido.

It is no surprise that, for many, the menopause blights lives. And women are often not sure where to find support.

At Grayshott Spa, the Menopause Retreat addresses the problems of this major life change. The course leader is women’s health pioneer and nutritionist Maryon Stewart. She is a formidable lady who started the Angelus Foundation, which educates people about the risks of ‘legal highs’.

She is a mother of four, author of 26 books, a prolific broadcaster, a counsellor, the founder of a women’s health advisory service and proponent of alternative healthcare. Additionally, she’s a pocket Venus who can do the splits (but only after she’s warmed up).

Seeds and beans
Maryon has devised The Natural Menopause Kit, a scientifically based approach. Before the retreat, you are asked to complete extensive paperwork about your diet, symptoms and medical history.

Once you’re at Grayshott, the retreat kicks off with dietary advice. You need the right nutrients for optimal hormonal performance, otherwise you’re conducting the orchestra with one hand. Some plants (soybeans, red clover, linseed and, in much lower quantities, green tea, peas, pinto beans and lentils) contain naturally occurring compounds called isoflavones. These closely resemble the molecular structure of oestrogen and act as phytoestrogens (i.e. like oestrogen in the body).

The idea is that if you take the right amount and right combination of isoflavones, the body will be fooled into thinking that the ovaries are still working. If you get enough of it into your receptor sites, you’ll replicate your pre-menopausal state, thereby averting/reducing/killing your symptoms and potentially protecting the long-term health of your heart and bones.

Almost immediately, we ladies on the retreat get to sample the delights of naturally occurring oestrogen: pumpkin, sesame and flax seeds and enough soya to feed an army. It might be with a slight tightness in our voice that some of us say, “Pass the spiced poached pear with tofu,” as we’ll have already been given a Body Composition Analysis in which we stand on a metal plate and a nasty machine gives us a printout revealing whether we’re too fat.

Maryon teaches us about the foods that aggravate menopausal symptoms. These include spicy foods, alcohol, caffeine and hot drinks. Instead, we should go for those oft-recommended treats, mackerel and green leafy vegetables.

Your nutrient levels
She might suggest having your levels of nutrients, vitamins, mineral and biochemical levels measured at Biolab in London – the only laboratory in the country doing tests of this kind– to determine any deficiencies that need to be addressed nutritionally or by other non-drug means.

Once the results are revealed, she can tinker and add to the supplements she has already recommended; Red Clover or Sea Buckthorn Oil, for example. She doesn’t use anything unless it has been given the thumbs-up by the men in white coats.

But life according to Maryon is not just a question of pill-popping and glugging soya. She offers a smattering of DIY spiritual tips (of the ‘make gratitude lists’ and ‘capture the joy in the moment’ ilk) and there is something in the way she lives her life that make these extra attractive.

Importantly, she also suggests various changes in lifestyle. Exercise is a crucial component of the programme, so you’ll be expected to spring out of bed before breakfast to do aqua aerobics and take walks, sweetened only by the latter being across the beautiful National Trust acres that adjoin Grayshott.

She is also keen on ladies d’un certain age having at least 20 minutes of relaxation a day. It is proven to reduce night sweats and hot flushes. The latter, incidentally,arecaused by the body trying to kick-start the ovaries, rather like an engine being revved when the gear box is broken.

Now this is where you get to the ahhhh bit of the retreat: the relaxing massages (often from talented menopausal therapists), yoga classes and use of the Pzizz machine, which plays hypnotic, relaxing, sleep-inducing soundzzzzz.

Not on the scrap heap
One of Maryon’s aims is to help women come off – or avoid going on to – HRT, with its possibility of breast tenderness, bloating and headaches, and potential health risks including breast cancer.

Her programme has been proven in two studies (conducted over five months, with 50 and 100 women respectively) to help more than 90 per cent of women wean off HRT and overcome their symptoms naturally.

Her overriding message is that women can be more in control of their health prospects, rather than feeling on the scrap heap, as some do once they reach ‘The Change’.

You may not like the soya worship. And eating isoflavones to combat nature’s joke is not a new approach. But, ladies, the menopause isn’t a problem for Japanese women, whose diet is high in such foods, especially soya. So it’s worth a try.

Either way, you’ll finish the retreat with a greater understanding of how to look after your ageing body, mind and soul. You may not feel as good as Cherie Lunghi, who reported feeling “500 per cent better” a few months after doing it. But you’ll leave with hope, supplements and the promise of a renewed libido. A good enough alternative to going downhill?

We fly from Nairobi in a plane that is one up from that used by Le Petit Prince, land at the one-strip airport with a thatched shed waiting-room, then take a speedboat past timeless fishing villages and mangrove swamps. Welcome to Lamu, a remote island off the coast of Kenya. The downside is the journey. But the upside is that there’s no jet-lag: it’s only three hours ahead of GMT. It’s also where the hip crowd goes. Think Tracey Emin, Sting and make-up artist to the stars, Mary Greenwell.

The lure of Lamu becomes immediately apparent if you stay in Jahazi, a Swahili-style house on a deserted beach about 25 minutes by boat from mainland Kenya at the southernmost tip of the island. You’re welcomed at the water’s edge by five staff – includingyour own boat captain and private chef – all wearing white shorts and Africa-sized smiles. With its private pool, fabulous baraza (meeting area), five colonial Swahili-style bedrooms and view of the Indian Ocean, many guests feel inclined simply to remain supine. (‘I hope for a massive storm so that we have to stay longer,’ scribbled Ewan McGregor in the visitors’ book.)

Jahazi is one of only six Kizingoni Beach Houses built next to what must be the longest stretch of deserted beach in the universe and surrounded by sand dunes. A few steps away from the ocean, the houses are built of coral block and plastered in the local limestone, with palm-thatched roofs, terraces overlooking the ocean, limestone floors tinted a soft ochre yellow and al fresco bathrooms beneath starry African skies (think also Swahili carved wooden door frames, colonial Swahili furniture and palm-leaf Ali Baba lampshades).

All you have to do here is move from one bed to another: from opium beds with big bolsters and oversized raw silk cushions to ones built onniru (plasterwork) bases, hammocks swinging in the breeze, romantic mozzie-net-draped four-posters, traditional Lamu day beds and kikoi-strewn beds swinging from coconut fibre ropes and overlooking the gardens. You wake up to alarm calls from tropical birds and to waves crashing on the white sand.

It’s compelling to spend days just flicking through magazines and eating the day’s catch and coconut rice, served on the terrace overlooking the ocean by the barefoot butler with the mega-watt smile. But Leslie Duckworth, known locally as the Duchess of Fixit, has other ideas for us. Probably the person who put Lamu so fashionably on the map, the Duchess is one of that peculiarly Kenyan breed of indefatigable entrepreneur. She knows le tout Afrique, manages the Kizingoni Beach Houses and has decorated them stylishly, writes books on African medicinal plants, buys and sells houses, is involved in the Lamu women’s community projects, has a shop in Nairobi…

She insists we stir ourselves and walk the few steps to the beach as night falls and the sky fills with stars. There we find a table set, Savoy-style, with a linen cloth and crockery, and at which we sit alone on a beach under the endless African sky eating succulent barbecued prawns and skewered crayfish followed by delicate passion fruit sorbet served by our butler. (Nets laden with fish from snapper to tuna are delivered daily to the beach.) Then Samburu warriors appear suddenly wearing vivid fabrics and bead and feather headdresses, and do frenetic and primitive tribal dances. There’s no sense that they’ve done this a million times before for tourists, because they haven’t.

The more energetic visitors can water-ski (a speedboat and boatman come with the house), donut, snorkel and swim the channel between the house and the mainland. (‘Amazing,’ concluded Sienna Miller in the guest book. ‘Swam with dolphins TWICE.’) Or you can get up at 6am and – accompanied by Samburu to deter the occasional petty thief; there is virtually no violent crime on the island – walk for around three hours in the cool of the early morning. (The less fit can go by donkey or camel.) As the sun moves up the sky, you stride through the sand eight miles to Shela, the Notting Hill of Lamu, along a beach where sea turtles lay eggs at full moon and thousands of teeny pink crabs scuttle sideways into the water. We pass only a goat, a stray dog and wandering cattle and, closer to civilisation, some donkeys with straw panniers being filled with stones and a Moses-style figure wading through the water, hauling a boat made from a hollowed tree trunk and carrying a live goat and a cow.

Finally we arrive in Shela. This is where you can sit on cushions in the famous Sixties Peponi Hotel to have a feast of fish in coconut off big brass trays; eat on the terrace while gazing at the dhows sailing past; or lounge at the bar – the centre of the world out here and the only place in Shella serving alcohol – where rastas and Euros in leopard-print bikinis share Tusker beers with royalty. I sit on the terrace feeling mightily smug at having covered my eight miles so fast. I drink steaming cups of coffee, eat fresh exotic fruits and gaze longingly across the water at the Robinson Crusoe home of the tribal-inspired jewellery designer, Carolyn Roumeguere (Julian Sands, Nicole Kidman and Donna Karan are fans).

And then it’s off to look at Shela. It’s clean, gentrified and quaint. A place less spoilt and cheaper than the Caribbean. A place where women wear sequinned kaftans and cheery sarongs. There’s only one bar and one restaurant; it’ll never be St Tropez, thankfully. But it is the place to buy former dilapidated Swahili houses, most now fashionably renovated. Go and see a few with Englishman Andrew McGhie who started Lamu Island Property – the island’s first real estate agency – and climb their stairs and look over makuti thatched roofs at the biblical scene. A delightful and engaging man, Andrew will spirit you into Arab houses built of coral and limestone and Swahili houses with mangrove and coconut roofs. ‘The island has changed more in the last five years than it has in the last 100,’ he says.

If you just want to rent a house for your holiday, try El Yafir, just moments away from Peponi. It’s the stylish house of Mary Greenwell,- who counts Gwyneth Paltrow, Keira Knightly and Kate Moss among her clients. Mary bought a plot five years ago in Shela. Inspired by the island’s Islamic traditions, she designed her beautiful petit palais with the help of architect Claudio Modola. It has niru floors, Swahili doors and furniture designed by Mary and fashioned by traditional craftsmen in local woodwork shops where artisans make intricate mahogany carved door-frames and bed-heads.

A vast Rajasthani front door leads into a cool hall with a fountain and font with bougainvillea petals floating in it. If there is such a thing as romantic church style, then this is it, with its arches, pillars, hanging glass lanterns and ecclesiastical-style windows. There are an abundance of places in which to lie and daydream: delightful alcoves containing day beds, four posters swathed in muslin, Moorish-style sunken baths and a fairy-tale terrace with urns of bougainvillea, cascading flowers and fringed with cream curtains fluttering in the breeze. There seem also to be endless smiling staff bringing endless plates of endless deliciousness, and they all come with the house when you rent it.

If you’re lucky (and Lamu is that kind of place) Andrew or Mary may introduce you to Eric and Christina Zeller – who live about ten donkey paces away from El Yafir. If so, go and be nosey in their home, Lulu Y Shella (Pearl of Shella), the spacious Fifties house built by casting director Bonni Allen. Now lived in by Eric, an interior and furniture designer and architect, and Christina, the über-stylish accessories designer for Givenchy, their house with its fusion of European and African idioms bears many of his deft touches combined with her aesthetic stamp. Between them they’ve come up with an eclectic mixture of cool features: from Arabic words as murals on the white plaster walls (‘we hoped it was going to be a lovely poem,’ laughs Christina, ‘but it turns out it’s just the opening times of the local museum’), to a stunning Eric-designed driftwood table that stretches almost to the mainland.

If you fancy travelling further back in time, jump in a boat and bounce over the waves a few minutes to Lamu town, a place so remote it has been spared modernisation and civilisation as we know it. Lamu is Kenya’s oldest town, a bustling port and Unesco World Heritage site with 72,000 inhabitants, 25,000 donkeys and one donkey sanctuary (opened by two Englishwomen, natch.) It has just one car (which belongs to the District Commissioner), one road (too narrow to turn; if the DC forgets something he has to reverse home), and 28 mosques for its mostly Muslim population.

Here you find women in traditional black bui buis and men in white kanzu robes wandering along tiny, winding alleyways, some only three feet wide. And there’s a throbbing market whose vendors, seated on the ground, sell sweet potatoes and papayas outside the 19th-century fort – once a prison and now housing a cyber cafe.

Originally a 14th-century Swahili sea trader settlement trading ivory, leopard skins, rhino horn and, later, slaves, it has an alluring mixture of Arab, Portuguese, Turkish, Omani and British influences from its erstwhile settlers: the Turks with their glassware and the Omanis with their art and arches. From the 9th century dhows have arrived in Lamu on the Kaskazi wind from the east with perfume, sugar and silk. Lamu is redolent of that history and going into the charming port-side museum is little different from standing in the street.

There’s fine Swahili architecture (including 16th-century houses) and many 19th-century mansions – high, austere, windowless homes hiding airy courtyards pungent with jasmine and delightful, hidden cool spaces with carved doors, intricate coral work, plasterwork niches and, possibly even antique hardwood furniture inlaid with bone. You can see all this and more with Andrew McGhie, if you’re looking to buy. (It’ll cost a snip of what anything as beautiful would cost nearer home; contact him on +254 (0)720 859 599, www.lamuislandproperty.com).

Lamu is known for attracting the ‘gyp set’: artists, eccentrics, escapists, dreamers, weirdos and romantics (once it was the African version of Kathmandu, a paradise for backpackers in search of alternative realities). It’s far from Kenya’s mainland political instability and election violence. There are no perilous roads, no traffic jams, no television and, thankfully, a lousy internet signal. Just dhow racing, henna painting competitions, donkey racing and er, competitions for who has the most healthy donkey (the prize for a robust donkey? A mobile phone).

It’s a place where time is measured in sunsets and you feel free and supremely relaxed; where you’re in touch with the vast African sky, nature and the rhythms of life. Where there are dhows in full sail and donkeys laden with panniers of coral rock. Where there are exotic days filled with lime sodas, sea breezes and ever-smiling people.

As long as you remember to keep slapping on the factor Ten Zillion suncream (it’s two degrees south of the Equator) and popping the horrid anti-malarial pills, if you must (although, being an island, there are virtually no cases of the disease,) there’s no downside. We bounce back along the waves to our Kizingoni Beach House, a smile on my face, another in my heart. Yes, it certainly out-paradises the competition.

Kizingoni Beach Houses from £1,965 per person based on four couples sharing a house for seven nights on a fully inclusive basis, including flights and transfers and airport taxes. For more information or to book, call Scott Dunn on 020 8682 5070;www.scottdunn.com. E-mail africa@scottdunn.com or info@kizingoni.com.
Virgin Atlantic flies Heathrow to Nairobi daily. Fares from £379. Book on: 08448 747 747; www.virginatlantic.com.

To hire Mary Greenwell’s house, contact Babu British: 00 254 7358 02340; babubritish@yahoo.com. High season prices: December, January, August – $400 for the master bedroom, and $50 for each extra person using the other two bedrooms per night. February and March: $300 for the master bedroom, and $50 for each extra person. Rest of year: $250 for master bedroom and $50 for each extra person. Price includes transfers, private chef and house boys. Food and beverages extra. Menus can be discussed on a daily basis with the chef.

Picture a sandstone building shimmering like a mirage. Perhaps something out of Lawrence of Arabia – or maybe a creamy Moroccan fort. Then imagine honey-coloured alleyways, a piazza and a church – just built but looking as if they’ve been there for centuries. Now envisage, if you will, 93 townhouses in the style of traditional Apulian hill villages. And finally add to the mix some large villas – grand-ish residences encircled with dry stonewalls and cacti – on the outskirts of the town.

Fill the air with the scent of figs and oregano and conjure in your mind’s eye a private estate with vines growing alongside fields bursting with cherry tomatoes and aubergines. Then you have an idea of Borgo Egnazia, Italy’s smartest new offering. Most of it opened at the beginning of the year.

Borgo Egnazia is a resort in Puglia – in the stiletto heel of Italy – and a feat of vision and design. It’s a place that has opened to oohs and ahs; a venue snapped up for French Vogue fashion shoots; and to which photographers from Architectural Digest Italia and suchlike have been hotfooting it. It’s rather like a film set – with extras wafting past in Alberta Ferretti and Pucci.

It ‘s a borgo (Italian for village) and comprises La Corte – a masseria-style hotel – plus the aforementioned townhouses, villas, pools too numerous to count and a fantabulous children’s club. Its design speaks of the rural architecture of the nearby hill villages with their Greek, Goth, Norman and Spanish influences – the legacy of Puglia’s invaders.

We go inside to find a cream-on-cream minimalist dream and wow! contemporary take on the farmhouse look. There are huge tufo pots of grain (‘pile’ as they’re known,) baskets of almonds and a massive sculpture of hanging birdcages. Then there’s Vair, its spa with Roman baths – including a Tepidarium, Calidarium and Frigidarium and therapists who float around in togas and offer locally -inspired therapies.

We stay in a very comfortable 3 -bedroom villa, enjoying our own space, attentive service and a private pool. It costs 10,000 Euros a week. It’s unusual in a new villa that costs that much for the shower to drip through the kitchen ceiling and the bedroom door handle to come off in your hand. But the Chief of Maintenance – he’s included in the price – deals with these minor issues. After all this is a paradiso where they pride themselves on attention to detail.

The one thing that is faultless and beyond compare is the food. A god among culinary men is Mario Musoni, Borgo Egnazia’s Michelin-starred Executive Chef. He’s a big noise in the Slow Food movement, believes in zero food miles and takes the organic produce for his dishes from the 250-acre estate surrounding his kitchens at Borgo Egnazia. To the Italian press he’s ‘The King of Risotto’ and his pistachio ice cream with a drizzle of olive oil is the talk of tutti in Puglia.

Puglia is a top destination for gourmet travellers. It has a microclimate producing many of the world’s best ingredients, plus fresh seafood from the Adriatic and some of the most delicious cuisine in Italy. One can also enjoy, courtesy of Mario, fantastic cookery lessons – there are four staff to six pupils – who teach us to make Pizza Margherita in an al fresco wood burning pizza oven. Additionally he does Olive Oil Tastings.

Outside the resort there are a number of restaurants. Nearby is Masseria Ciminowhere we eat like Apulian royalty on holiday in the countryside. It’s a 17th century farmhouse with agricultural implements decorating the walls. Dinner is a four- course homemade buffet – simple peasant fare and all of it delicious: from taralli (like delicious olive oil shortbread,) to homemade orecchitte pasta (rabbits’ ears pasta and the region’s speciality), and baked sea bream.

Next we go to Pescheria 2 Mari in the nearby fishing village of Savelletri. (It’s a restaurant ina glass box on the harbour.) Basically it’s a fishmongers where we choose our fish which they then slice (if necessary) and give to us to eat. Sea truffles, octopus, noci (pink mussels) , slivers of sea bass… They serve only raw fish and local wine.

You can play golf on the 18-hole San Domenico Golf Course. (It’s lovely and overlooks the sea.) We also cycle 15 minutes to the ruins of the important ancient city of Egnazia – from which the resort takes its name – to see pots, skeletons, tombs, crypt and acropolis. Some of it is still unexcavated and dating back to the Bronze Age. And all in a picturesque setting beside the sea.

Further afield, we visit Alberobello, ‘The capital of trulli’ – with its Hobbit hovels with conical roofs. Here we wander through alleyways amid these small, round stone houses like so many sun-bleached beehives. Afterwards we enjoy nearby Ostuni – known as The White Town – with its Byzantine-style cathedral and citadel. In its market they sell three types of green bean (one as long as spaghetti), curious indigenous melon- shaped cucumbers and artisan-made burratta (moonballs of double cream mozzarella) plus dried tomatoes.

Among my favourite sights, however, are the olive trees that stand in serried ranks in the estate surrounding Borgo Egnazia. Enormous, ancient olive trees. They are breathtakingly beautiful.

“These trees are two hundred years old, maybe more,” says our driver.

“They’re thousands of years old,” another local tells us later. If we stick around a few hours, the trees will celebrate their millionth birthdays.

Regardless, there are 65 million of them, give or take one or two, in Puglia. And they are, indeed, many hundreds of years old. Until 2005, these olive trees emigrated in biblical numbers – as they were stolen for fashionable gardens by thieves getting £8000-ish per tree. But now they’re protected and produce gallons of delicious extra virgin oils. Forty per cent of Italy’s oil, to be precise.

We can’t take a tree home with us these days. But we take some olive oil. Our stay may end up with us tipping the bathroom scales. It may do the same to the bank balance. But it’s definitely worth it. Without a doubt we’ll be back to visit this special resort on what’s known as the Olive Coast.

Vietnam is the new Thailand. You get incredible history, magical landscapes, deserted white beaches, top colonial hotels and wonderful spas. You find bustling cities – some surpassingly beautiful with the faded elegance of the French colonial era – ancient temples, pagodas and haunting relics of the Vietnam War.

You haggle in colourful markets piled with dry shrimps and Buddhist artefacts, and swipe your plastic in sophisticated shops selling silk clothes and embroidered linens. Then stop to eat delicious street food such as pho (beef broth with noodles) and nem (delicate rice flour rolls filled with glass noodles, shrimps and coriander). You can walk amid pole carriers laden with dragon fruits, or try a three-wheeled cyclo pedicab. If you want to follow in my family’s intrepid footsteps, below is a round-up of destinations and hotels visited during our time in Vietnam.

1) The Sofitel Metropole, Hanoi

The spot: Perfectly situated in the French Quarter, just by the Opera House. It’s near the Old Quarter and Hoan Kiem Lake.

Why stay here: It’s one of the last great historic hotels in Asia. The 1901 Metropole offers French colonial elegance in the old wing and after the $20 million renovations finished last year, a zingy new Opera Wing. They’re virtually separate hotels in character and even have independent lobbies. In the old Metropole Wing there’s traditional furniture, ceiling fans and an old-fashioned shoe-shine service on offer; in the new wing, it’s a bold, contemporary look which slightly misfires. But there are nice touches like a choice of five pillows – doll’s house-sized models of which are popped on your bed for you to choose. Everyone gathers around the courtyard pool to sunbathe and eat fruit kebabs. And if you want history, there’s even a bunker under the poolside Bamboo Bar. Try Le Spa (the only luxury spa in the city) in a double treatment room then have a green-tea-and-bamboo-shoot facial followed by a Sacred Flower Scrub.

Don’t miss: The exquisite 1070 Temple of Literature, Vietnam’s first university and the Confucian temple with its five courtyards, ornamental gateways, stone stelae and red lacquer pillars. And the Thang Long Water Puppet Theatre for shows from hidden puppeteers standing in waist-high water and musicians on instruments made from dried watermelon.

Retail therapy: Propaganda posters from the Pham Manh gallery. Mangosteen and longan from pole carriers with conical hats and baskets

Must eat: The lotus blossom and bamboo shoot salad at the hotel’s elaborate buffet lunch at Spices Garden. And chocolate teas prepared by their Maitre Chocolatier – think chocolate fondue and chocolate jelly. Otherwise go to Bobby Chinn’s restaurant. He’s South East Asia’s culinary TV star. His temporary restaurant is in his home and it offers bordello décor and global cuisine. Try the lotus-leaf-wrapped caramel ginger chicken and sticky rice.

2) Halong Jasmine junk, Halong Bay

The spot: Breathtaking scenery at UNESCO world heritage site of Halong Bay. Think a seascape of strange-shaped outcrops, caves and coves. The area covers 580 square miles with more than 2,000 limestone pinnacles, pillars and dolomite outcrops scattered across it. Legend has it that a gigantic dragon careered into the sea and created the fantastical islets by lashing its tail in the Gulf of Tonkin. A more conservative view is that they’re the result of erosion over millennia. It’s a place that gets poets’ juices going and inspires artists, who see everything from monks to gods in the rocks and dragons’ lairs in the caves. Halong Jasmine cruises in Lan Ha Bay and anchors at night near 690 island. The brochures and guidebooks make it sound amazing, which it is. But it’s also fantastically touristy.

Why stay here: It’s a traditional junk with fan-shaped golden sails apparently dipped in vegetable dye for protection. But it also has air-con and three floors and sun deck. (At 55 metres long and 11 metres wide, it’s Halong Bay’s largest junk.) There’s polished woodwork, 1930s style Indochine décor and 24 cabins with comfy beds and ensuite shower rooms. It even has a spa. There’s plenty to occupy the water-borne tourists from a welcome drink on boarding to the cooking demo, spa treatments and T’ai Chi on the upper deck at 7am. But I couldn’t help thinking I was on a floating version of a luxury coach.

Don’t miss: Going on a bamboo sampan rowed by a lady in a conical hat to visit Cua Van, the floating village. It has houseboats, a school, pig-pens and tourist-weary residents. Residents live as many as three generations to a room. Later, shuffle with the queues through Sung Sot cave which is larger than most Knightsbridge flats.

Retail therapy: Tourist rubbish and pearls on the mainland and vendors in boats trying to flog shells and wicker hats.

Must eat: The seafood lunch on board, unless you’re going to swim 50km for an alternative.

3) La Residence, Hue

The spot: On the Perfume River with floating dragon boats and sampans, overlooking the ancient Citadel.

Why stay here: La Residence was a former annex to the French governor’s house (the French governor of Annam – now Central Vietnam). The original 1930s house has been sympathetically restored and expanded with two comfortable modern wings and Art Deco-style pieces and fixtures. Think a bowed, nautical facade, high ceilings and pieces that speak of the Jazz Age to the 1950s. There are suites with terraces big enough to build a village and four-posters with mosquito nets. Bedrooms are comfy and many have outstanding views. The lobby is set around Le Gouverneur bar – a bar with Art Deco type murals at the heart of the hotel. There’s a slightly run-down 30-metre saltwater pool in a lush courtyard garden which is great for cooling off from the overwhelming humidity. Near the pool is Le Spa, which has seven treatment rooms. Packages are designed by Italy’s Comfort Zone but the therapists are Vietnamese. I started with ginger and honey tea and ended with a sublime four-handed massage.

Don’t miss: Anything: the Imperial City, royal palaces, pagodas, tombs, statues of Mandarin warriors, dynastic bronze funerary urns and ancient bronze cauldrons. There’s also the Thien Mu Pagoda which still has Thich Quang Duc’s rusty blue Austin. (He was the Buddhist monk who self-immolated in response to persecution.)

Retail therapy: ‘Rolex’ watches ($25) from the Dong Ba Market and conical ‘brushes’ of yellow and red incense.

Must eat: The hotel food doesn’t quite pass muster but for a trip down student-backpacking memory lane, go to Mr Cu’s Mandarin Cafe. It’s one of those places that draws Lonely Planet souls in search of banana pancakes and Vietnamese rice dishes. His charming, naturalist photographs of Vietnamese rural life on the walls are for sale.

4) The Nam Hai, Hoi An

The spot: Miami-meets-Cancun coastline. The resort is hidden from this on a deserted 35-hectare golden stretch of Hoi An Beach overlooking fishing boats bobbing on the China Sea. It’s just 10 minutes from Hoi An, another UNESCO world heritage site.

Why stay here: The Nam Hai is a top chilling option combining haute design with stunning views. It has a manicured resort of 100 almost-Aman villas (Adrian Zecha is a non exec board member) designed by Paris architect Reda Amalou. Villas have chic, contemporary Asian décor by interior decorator Jaya Ibrahim. Think Lombok-style with elegant dark woods, bronze and taupe silks, and moody lighting. The other bathroom opens onto courtyard with alfresco shower. The design and décor brings on a dose of Zen serenity. Choose an Ocean Villa rather than a Pool Villa for better views. Some have private infinity pools edging onto the beach and they’re spacious – even a one-bed villa is 860 sq foot. They come with private butlers and Phuong, our butler, unpacks and packs for us, sorts our laundry and serves us meals by the pool. There are buggies to transport you to the fitness pavilion, tennis, badminton and basket ball courts, as well as the library, kiddies’ club or one of three huge pools leading down to the sea. If you’re feeling pamper-hungry, go harem-style in Le Spa and have a double-handed massage followed by a bathing ceremony in scented water strewn with petals – and look out on flames burning in cauldrons along the lake.

Don’t miss: Great cookery classes with the chef, Binh, after 3km bike ride to buy produce from the local market. (I can now make a mean fresh rice noodles with prawns and a banana blossom salad.) Also take a walking tour in Hoi An with Luong Chinh, a charming English-speaking guide. See the 18th century merchants’ houses, the Japanese Covered Bridge, the Old Quarter, Chinese temples and hundreds of tailors.

Retail therapy: Hand-hammered, patinated bronze bowls with 24k gold leaf interiors from the resort’s shop. Simple tailoring from Yali in Hoi An, which can be made in a couple of days.

Must eat: Go to the restaurant in the resort for Vietnamese specialities such as fish on sugar cane ‘sticks’ and fresh spring rolls. The breakfasts are also excellent: rice congee to vitamin shooters, pomelo marmalade and canary-yellow eggs any which way. In Hoi An try The Cargo Club Restaurant for delicate rice flour dumplings and sesame-crusted tuna.

5) Six Senses Hideaway, Ninh Van Bay

The spot: You’d be hard-pushed to find anywhere more beautiful. It’s on a peninsula which feels like an island because it’s accessible only by boat. There’s nothing nearby, just towering mountains behind, coral-strewn beach in front and views of the South China Sea, Ninh Van Bay and the Hon Heo mountains. The owners have even rented 50,000 square metres of sea in front of the resort to ensure that no noisy boats obstruct the view or disturb the peace.

Why stay here: It really is a no news, no Louboutins (or indeed any shoes) place. Even resort time is set one hour ahead of Hanoi time to allow guests to enjoy more daylight. There are 58 villas, all with private pools and delightfully dotted among the hills, on beach and over rocks. The interior décor is rustic chic with a wooden bath tub and bathroom open to a courtyard with alfresco shower. We walked out of our door of our Beach Villa onto golden sands. But I loved the Spa Suite Villa too – a hilltop villa with its own spa area and stunning views. (You climb about 70 steps to get there.) The Presidential Villa – two beds at $2,800 – is where Prince William and Kate Middleton stayed. We shower to the clicking of geckos, Duc monkeys come down close to the restaurant and sea eagles hover above. Nearby snorkelling is not yet great as the coral reefs with which the resort is fringed are mostly dead. The spa offers holistic treatments in rooms hewn in rocks and forest to the sounds of cicadas and birds. It has blissful bamboo walls, thatched shower and towels on rails made of branches. The very un-local Lomi Lomi (Hawaiian massage based on an ancient Shamanic rite of passage) is great. The new GM promises great things but he’ll need a good English teacher and a big new broom. Service can be rural and, luckily, a new chef is en route, too.

Don’t miss: The visit to lobster farm on a local fishing boat (kitted out with bamboo roof and white-towel-covered mattresses) then a BBQ lunch on the beach.

Must eat: Have a private dinner in the wine cave dotted with tea lights, or a BBQ lunch on a deserted beach. We were looked after beautifully by a private staff of two boatmen, one chef and a waiter.

6) Park Hyatt, Saigon

The spot: Near the 19th-century post office (still in use) and the 19th century Notre Dame Cathedral in a city that is an economic powerhouse.

Why stay here: It’s an unbeatable oasis in a city of eight million people and four million motorbikes. The Park Hyatt Saigon is built in faux-colonial style. It also has French-colonial-inspired décor, a great outdoor pool and 24-hour butler on every floor. The hotel is run with consummate professionalism and slick service. The GM, an Australian called Michael Golden, has the golden touch. There’s a good jazz performer every night in the lounge. HCMC has a staggering number of hotels but this one is said to beat them all.

Don’t miss: The grimly fascinating War Remnants Building in the former US Information Service building. Also 25 miles northwest are the Cu Chi tunnels – used by the Viet Cong for guerilla warfare and mounting surprise attacks. Built at different levels, they extended for more than 125 miles.

Retail therapy: Catherine Denoual for beautiful French-style bed and table linen by a French woman living in Ho Chi Minh City and Apricot Gallery for contemporary Vietnamese artists. Saigon Square for fake Converses (£6 a pair).

Must eat: Superlative Vietnamese street-food-inspired cuisine at the hotel’s Saigon Square One restaurant. Try the soft shell crabs with coconut, ginger and tamarind; shrimps on sugar cane; beef rolls with la lot (wild betel) leaf and five spices; and sea bass with lotus leaves. Then palm sugar ice-cream, passion fruit sorbet and warm coconut brownies. Have it with local beer or fresh juices – from guava to sour sop (like custard apple) and small, sweet fresh coconut. Also incredible buffet breakfasts in the Opera Restaurant, which is trattoria-style and overlooks Lam Son Square.