Deborah King enjoys flora, fauna, and friendliness on the Malaysian island of Langkawi.

The brochure was enticing: "Sit back in awe and take an exhilarating ride up the Machincang escarpment... to enjoy 360-degree views of the island." Views aside, with midday temperatures reaching the 90s, the anticipated cool breeze from the top of Langkawi's second highest mountain sounded irresistible.

'When we felt lazy there were some fine beaches'

The island's cable car, with its 42-degree incline, offers one of the world's steepest rides. Ten minutes later, at the steepest point of its 1¼-mile journey, our gondola came to a halt and all was quiet, apart from the sound of the wind swaying our metal and glass bubble. A sign above our heads read: "In case of stoppage sit and enjoy the scenery, help is on the way." At 520 million years of age, Mount Machincang is one of the oldest rock formations in South-East Asia and is cloaked in jungle so dense that in some places 150 species of tree can be found in less than a square mile. Within 15 minutes our cocoon was on its way again and from the top platforms we had a view of Langkawi and some of its neighbouring islands. The Langkawi archipelago consists of 99 islands located off the north-west coast of Malaysia and just south of the Equator. More than 65 per cent of Pulau Langkawi, the largest of these and the one most people mean when they refer to Langkawi, remains covered in rainforest, which helps to make it one of the least spoilt tourist spots in South-East Asia. We had come to Langkawi for a three-week winter break and, for variety, had booked three hotels; but secretly, I wondered if I would go crazy after a week. Not one to lie on a sunbed for long, I wondered whether there would be enough to do without feeling the need to escape to one of the other islands.

I needn't have worried: Langkawi, slightly larger than Barbados, had enough places to explore, delicious cuisine, abundant wildlife, friendly locals and rustic charm to keep us amused. When we felt lazy there were some fine beaches, including a long stretch of sand at the main resort of Pantai Cenang, and when we felt in need of adventure we didn't have to look far, either.

We booked ourselves on a birdwatching tour led by Dev, a naturalist, who drove to Gunung Raya, which, at 3,000 feet, is the island's highest mountain. There, he taught us how to identify the three types of hornbill and the difference between a grey-faced buzzard and a mountain eagle. Cute hummingbirds sunned themselves on rhododendrons and a flock of bee-eaters followed our car, attracted by the insects in its slipstream. Common mynah birds were everywhere, but their tuneful song was anything but ordinary. That morning we saw almost 25 of the 200 species of birds found on Langkawi.

Dev's Dutch business partner, Anne-Marie, was so impressed with Langkawi that she decided to make it her home. "I knew this was where I wanted to live within half an hour of stepping on to the beach," she said. "The weather's great, it's stress-free and safe and there's plenty of wildlife." She was right on all counts.

It was also very cheap: for £7 a day we hired a car and returned to Gunung Raya the following day for our own wildlife safari. The 950cc engine survived the climb and we were rewarded with the sight of a group of clown-like dusky-leaf monkeys eating high in the trees, hornbills swooping between fig trees, and a family of long-tailed macaques leaping from branch to branch. By the time we left, it was twilight.

On most days we would catch a glimpse of the cable car from a distance. Part of the Machincang range is shaped like a reclining head, with the forehead, nose and chin covered in jungle.

We discovered it was possible to trek to the top after visiting an area known as Telaga Tujuh, a series of seven natural pools leading to a waterfall. From here, we followed a steep jungle trail using the tree roots as a staircase and a series of ropes secured around tree trunks to pull our bodies to the top. Three exhilarating hours later, we made our descent through the tropical rainforest to a chorus of cicadas.

The insects weren't the only ones in good spirits. Back at our first hotel, the informal, Austrian-run Beach Garden Resort in Pantai Cenang, I inquired about the batik throw in our room and was told I could buy the material at the night market at Padang Matsirat.

So off we went, past paddy-fields sprinkled with water buffalo and kingfishers, to the market and its collection of food stalls. Among a cluster of noisy generators were stalls selling laksa, a type of rice noodle, satay chicken and spicy vegetable dishes, all for a few ringgits. The fabric shop, unfortunately, was closed.

The following day, Zana, one of the receptionists, offered to help. A bag duly arrived in our thatched room containing two pieces of the batik material with a bill attached for little more than £3.

One balmy evening we walked along the beach before sunset, past a group of wading women collecting shellfish in nets, to the nearby fishing village. Since most of the small boats went out after dark there was little to see. We stopped for a drink at a simple fishermen's café, where an old woman offered us a plate with lepat manis, a sticky dessert, and pulut udang, a dish containing prawn, chilli, coconut and onion. She didn't want us to pay for the food - it was for us to try, she told us.

Since Langkawi is influenced by Chinese, Indian and Thai cuisine, the lure of the many restaurants, cafés and hawker stalls proved considerable. We would also tuck into roti canai, Indian-style bread with curry sauce, as an alternative to a western breakfast, and otak otak, a succulent fish with coconut cooked in banana leaves; there were bags of banana fritters for less than a pound.

You don't come here for the nightlife, as names such as Little Lylia's Chillout Bar and the Go Slow Bar suggest, but we had a few evenings sipping cocktails. Sometimes we would start the day by wandering through the villages near Pantai Cenang where there are a few traditional wooden houses on stilts.

Sadly, these beautiful kampungs are in decline, gradually being replaced by cheaper, concrete bungalows. We looked over one of these after meeting a man called Ali during one of our strolls. "Come and see the inside, please," he said with obvious delight, before proudly giving us a tour of his son's half-finished bungalow.

It was uplifting to find cheerful children riding bicycles, boys fishing with homemade rods in streams, and women tending coconut groves. Most days we would stop for a kelapa muda, or coconut milk, from a food seller on the beach and watch him skilfully shape the top into a lid using a cleaver.

We found another example of craftmanship up a meranti tree along the beach. It brought out the child in me, for as soon as I saw the tree house I knew I had to stay there. Luckily, it was available. A staircase led up to a balcony overlooking the sea and inside was a surprisingly large double bedroom. From our en-suite retreat, we could keep an eagle eye on the parasailers and sampans near the beach and listen to the sound of waves from our bed.

Our final hotel, the Berjaya, at Burau Bay on the north-west coast of the island, was preparing for a visit by a Malaysian dignitary when we arrived. When we told Dev we were staying at the Berjaya he was thrilled and told us it was the best place to see wildlife - especially red giant flying squirrels. He was right to be enthusiastic.

When things quietened down, the resort was a honeypot for animals and one of the best places to see monitor lizards and flying lemurs.

Our last evening was spent at the award-winning Seashells Beach Café along the palm-fringed beach for a meal of grilled sole and local cheesecake followed by some dancing beneath the stars.

The next day we had a final walk through the villages in Pantai Cenang, past the coconut groves and Ali's house. As we left, families were settling down to eat in the bronzed evening light.

Langkawi basics