It's funny, sometimes, what tourism operators think people want. 

Whether it's a kiss bridge, an awkward welcome song upon arrival at your resort or a floating breakfast, there are a lot of travel gimmicks out there that make me shudder.

Nothing has drawn my skepticism though quite like Phu Quoc's "fake" Italian village.

Located in the Gulf of Thailand, Phu Quoc is a stunning Vietnamese island that has been likened to Phuket or Koh Samui back before they exploded with tourism. At one point it was dubbed Vietnam's "last paradise."

Though much of the atoll is still wild and stunning, a lot of it has now been developed by hotels, resorts, clubs and a casino. There is also a "fake" Italian village at the southern end of the island, near the Hon Thom cable car and the An Thới fishing village, called Sunset Town. 

Last year I found myself there and had a look around. Here's what it was like to visit.

1. It's empty

It felt like a ghost town - or a zoo where people walk around and observe what it would be like to go on holiday in Italy (without actually using any of the amenities - no one was lying down in the sunbeds and relaxing, no one was eating in the cafes, no one was sitting in the restaurants). Everything - from cafes and gelato shops to hotels - was deserted (at around 5pm, when I visited) and the only signs of life were people taking photos. 

2. It's all about the 'gram

It feels more like a movie set than a real place. Though the photos you see on social media make it look incredible (and who knows, maybe there is something weirdly cool about staying in a sparsely populated re-enactment of Italy), to me it felt surreal, creepy and lifeless.  

3. The streets are named after places in Italy

From Venice to Positano, the possibilities were endless. 

4. It's soulless

It was like they had imported Italy over to Vietnam, having first sucked out the soul. My first thought was that it's a terrible waste - that in building this 'attraction' authorities were detracting from what attracts tourists to Phu Quoc in the first place (the local culture and strong sense of place).

But actually - it's not about foreign tourists. According to Business Insider, development on the island has been done in large part for the growing Vietnamese middle class.

For this reason, I feel I shouldn't be too quick to judge it. After all: it's not like we are averse to a ridiculous attraction Down Under (see: the Big Prawn, The Big Banana, etc.). Plus: this is far from the only place in the world where tourists are obsessed with getting the perfect Instagram shot (Paris is currently having problems with this thanks to the 'Emily in Paris' effect).

Still, walking around Sunset Town gave me a horrible icky feeling. Like I was complicit in ruining the world. Or something.

5. There is something morbidly cool about it all

While part of me thinks this place represents everything wrong with modern travel (photos prioritised over a real connection with a place), there is something awesome about having free run over a stunning city like this. Just think about it: how often would you ever get to experience Positano, Rome and The Amalfi Coast without the crowds? Maybe I've got it all wrong: maybe Sunset Town is actually better than Italy...

Images via Instagram, left to right: @sun.babeeee, @julialavleis and @2ling_ne

6. The photo opportunities are endless

Criticise the selfie stick hordes all you like (and, in my head, I certainly did). But there's not much else to do here. And I have to admit, it's insanely photogenic (yes, I joined the hordes, became a hypocrite, and got some very nice photos).

7. Maybe it just needs time?

It's got all the infrastructure. Now it just needs the people. Who knows, maybe if I come back in 10 years it will be a pumping party hub rivalling Magaluf for madness? Enough money has been invested in it.

8. There are plenty of other options

From water parks to cable cars to fishing trips (to adventurous food expeditions), if you're not a fan of wandering a faux-Euro town, there are heaps of other things to do on Phu Quoc.