We spent our first week on the edge of the Black River Gorges National Park. Being so sheer and thickly wooded, it is still a wilderness. Up here, there were lichens and stupendous ferns not seen anywhere else on the planet not to mention pink pigeons. I even managed a six-mile hike through the gorge without seeing another soul. This wasnt how Id imagined Mauritius, and nor had our daughter. Lucy, aged nine, was enchanted by this peculiar world; by the bike rides through the lava; by the avenues of mango; and by the great gingery fruit bats that flopped lazily overhead. Theyre the greatest survivors of all, the islands last endemic mammal.

We never had to go far, to be in the thick of the wildlife. Our hotel, Lakaz Chamarel, included 12 acres of luxuriant gardens, and was built on a ridge, high above the sea. Everything liked to congregate here. At breakfast, thered be a carnival of birds: pic-pics, weavers, mynas and the ridiculous bulbuls with their conical hats and bright red knickers. Then there were the geckos, which would sometimes join us at our private pool, in their wacky colours. It seems that even they like a little chic. At night, the forest would be magically transformed into an opera, a million love songs belted out in frog.

A pink pigeon (Photo: Alamy)

At the end of the drive was an African village. Many people here were descended from slaves, brought during the French period (1715-1810). Although nowadays the big business is singing (Chamarel is famous for its seggae), some of the villagers have kept their old slave names. Here you can find M Engenu (Mr Handy) and Assiette (Plate). Our favourite character was Rico LIntelligent, who ran a little eatery called Palais de Barbizon. Top of his menu was octopus curry, served with papaya.

Before heading north, we descended to the sea. In Tamarin Bay, a boat took us out to the dolphins. There, we found ourselves snorkelling among a school of 50 spinners. It was like being rushed by a wall of enormous blue sausages. As if that wasnt enough, I then climbed the great promontory that marks the tip of the island: Le Morne. Just short of the summit (1,820ft), a deep gully appeared. In 1810 it was reported that, on the other side, there was a community of runaway slaves. I never got to see their redoubt but I did come face-to-face with a tropicbird. This exquisite whip-tailed creature must be the only seabird that is hunted by monkeys.

Chamarel waterfall (Photo: Alamy)

It would be nice to think this landscape is untainted by humankind. But it isnt true. The ebony has all gone, and a lot has been introduced (including giant snails, to feed the slaves). To know what it was all like pre-1598, you need to go to Ile aux Aigrettes. There, they are busy turning back the clocks, rooting out acacia and killing all the rats.

Its an extraordinary islet: we came across olive white-eyes (now down to their last 100 birds) and Telfairs skink (a sort of snake with feet), which exists only here. We were also shown trees (Bois de boeuf) that have vanished elsewhere, and others (oxwood) that can make themselves look poisonous. Then there were Lucys favourites: 20 giant tortoises. They were reintroduced from the Seychelles, to help spread seeds. It was a brilliant idea, proposed by a brilliant man: Charles Darwin.

Heading north, I thought we had seen the last of wild Mauritius. The landscape rolled away in an endless savannah of sugar cane. It was magnificent in its way: a luminous lime-green plain, prickled with old chimneys and churches. The roads felt like tunnels through the cane and, in places, the slaves had gathered up huge pyramids of lava. But this was no place for the islands delicate fauna. Twice a year, this scenery is hacked back to the roots, and occasionally burnt.

A macaque monkey (Photo: Alamy)

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Mauritius wildlife holiday: beyond the beaches and luxury hotels