Forget China, book a holiday made in Taiwan instead

Anyone who's travelled in China will tell you one drawback is the sheer number of people vying to see it with you. "Best-kept secrets" are rare. And if you plan to rise early and avoid the rush, think again: you'll never beat the Chinese to their mark.

Travelling in Taiwan is another matter. At one-60th of China's population it's a roomier, wilder
version of its neighbour. The capital, Taipei, is a greatest hits of ancient temples, Zen gardens and street food. And because mainland Chinese are restricted entry, you're not up against millions of sharp-elbowed tourists.

I arrived last November en famille expecting to find, well, November. Instead, we emerged from a taxi near Taipei 101, Asia's second tallest building, to temperatures in the late-teens,
gardens in bloom and a backdrop of lush green mountains. And a population that seemed genuinely delighted to see us.

For all its natural charm and prosperity - spared from Mao's reforms and the recessions plaguing the West - Taipei is one big well-kept secret. Streets are safe from swindlers; shops are buzzy; taxis are in permanent supply.

We stayed at the Grand Hyatt, located near the minted towers of Xinyi and the Sun Yat Sen memorial, where on weekends dance troupes come to practice their routines on the terrace.

Now visitors can stay in the new W Hotel Taipei, which opened last month with 405 rooms, views of Taipei 101 and a design by London's GA International. The 31st-floor Cantonese restaurant, Yen, is headed up by Asia's favourite celeb chef, Jereme Leung, founder of Shanghai's Whampoa Club.

Heritage Taipei is on the other side of town, so we took one of those taxis west to our first must-see: the memorial to Chiang Kai Shek, modern Taiwan's founding father.

Despite it being a sunny Friday we had the place largely to ourselves - save for a group of Thai fashion students on a photo shoot. They chose the right setting. Against the structure's ivory brick, the cobalt blue glazed roof gleamed like Ming pottery. Inside, a few domestic tourists snapped Chiang's great bronze likeness. As they approached offering snacks for the children, we perched on the uppermost of 178 steps and watched workers set up for an outdoor concert in Liberty Square below.

The square is popular for events, flanked by the National Concert Hall and Theatre with their swooping saffron roofs. Outside the grand main gate the city opened up before us: the Baroque Presidential Offices; Jieshou Park; and a dozen stands selling steamed pork dumplings.

We bagged some for the children's supper but by the time we reached the Ximending we'd devoured them. A grid of shopping lanes tarted up to lure teens, Ximending is often compared to Tokyo's Harajuku but Brits will recognise a soupçon of Piccadilly in the ocean of LED. We balked at first - we weren't in the market for animal-print leggings - but as we explored deeper into Ximending's latticework, a quieter subculture emerged.