After shooting the rapids up the Yangtze in a sampan she struck out into the verdant plain only to encounter unexpected hostility from the locals. At one point she found herself trapped by an angry mob shouting "foreign devil", and her lodgings were set ablaze. Bird's journals from Sichuan provided British audiences with a first glimpse into the land of the ancient Shu kingdom and, even today, they make fascinating reading.

One hundred years on, China's door to the outside world is resolutely open. Hostility towards foreigners of the sort experienced by Bird is nowhere in evidence while one travels this landscape of unexpected riches, both modern and ancient. Casual meetings with local people provided some of my most rewarding experiences in Sichuan – my suitcase was stuffed to bursting with presents from those I had met over the course of the trip.

From the West's point of view, Sichuan – a territory the size of Western Europe – is still a largely undiscovered place. A world of snow-capped mountains contrasts with teeming cities; gambolling pandas jostle for attention with statues of golden elephants. Despite Sichuan's aggressive development, and the billions it is lavishing on modernising its abundant tourist resources, I couldn't help sharing a little of what Bird must have felt on alighting on the shores of the Yangtze.

Visiting Sichuan can be an alien experience. My party was blessed with the services of a translator, for English is rarely spoken outside the main tourist centres. However, it can still feel frustratingly hard to get under the skin of the local culture. Non-Chinese visitors, even at the most popular attractions, find themselves among a tiny minority. At times I felt as much of a curiosity as the things I had come to see. But for the inquiring traveller, that difference is the point of going.

Sichuan's provincial capital Chengdu is a rapidly emerging economic powerhouse with a population of 11 million people and which now boasts a direct air link from Amsterdam. In recent years it's been principally used as a staging post for those travellers heading west into Tibet (or what the Chinese government refers to as the Tibet Autonomous Region). The old two-day bus journey to Lhasa has been superseded by a sleek new train service along the highest railway in the world, while a direct air link offers a quicker if more expensive alternative means of transport.

Today there are plenty of reasons to persuade tourists to hang around in Sichuan, although at times I felt horribly lost amid the vast scale and frenetic street-life around me. A taxi-ride through the outer suburbs in the capital, where bamboo scaffolding rose remorselessly into the sky, felt like a mystery tour of the world's largest construction site. In a way that is exactly what it is.

On the other hand, I was surprised and slightly daunted to learn that Chengdu has a reputation as being one of the most laid-back cities in China. Here tea is drunk and mah-jong practised obsessively both in the sticky heat of the day and the pleasing coolness of the night. Although much of the old architecture has been swept away in the dash for modernity, intriguing hints of old China remain. A popular meeting place is the Qintai Road. Once the jewellery quarter, today it has been rebuilt in the ancient style as a place to shop the night away and enjoy some of the region's notoriously fiery cuisine, though navigating street menus is something of an adventure in itself.

Nearby is the thriving Sichuan Opera. It might have received an unflattering review from comedian Paul Merton during his recent television series, but the company still plays to packed houses, not all of them filled with tourists. I declined the opportunity to have my ears de-waxed during the show by a man carrying an outsize Q-tip and wearing what looked like a miner's lamp on his head.

The opera – to my waxy Western ears at least – was incomprehensible. The ancient art of face-changing is still practised here: an impressive spectacle in which elaborately dressed dancers switch masks at lightning speed.

Chengdu's street life is fascinating. In the morning, before the daily crush of bicycle and scooter traffic begins, large crowds gather beneath the towering figure of Mao Tse-tung in Chengdu's central square to perform complex al fresco exercises. While the routines look gentle enough, I can vouch for the fact they leave you feeling incredibly stiff. By night, young people wearing the latest designer clothes shop until the small hours in the neon-lit, consumer wonderland of Chunxi Road.

But to really appreciate Sichuan's diversity you have to leave Chengdu's vast sprawl. Driving on local roads is not for the faint-hearted. Chinese drivers seem to be engaged in a battle of strength rather than a mutual endeavour to arrive at their destination safely. Not that everyone is put off. I encountered one American couple cycling around the province, though their rictus grins told me everything I needed to know about how relaxing their holiday was proving. Unsurprisingly, the most popular way to get about remains a package tour booked with a local travel agent.

Top of every visitor's to-do list is an encounter with a giant panda; Sichuan's mountainous bamboo forests are home to some 80 per cent of the world's panda population. The highlight of the conservation programme is a four-hour drive along a scarily vertiginous single-lane road to Wolong. Here 19 cute panda cubs born last year play in their well-appointed enclosures.

We took in four Unesco World Heritage sites clustered within a few hours' motoring of Chengdu in three, admittedly gruelling, days. Closest to the city are the 2,000-year-old Dujiang irrigation system and Qingcheng mountain, which can be seen together in a single trip. The first, 40km upstream on the Minjiang river, still functions according to its original design. To me, it served as an insight into the Chinese tradition of collective endeavour, rather than as a breathtaking landscape. It was built in 256BC under the stewardship of the local governor Li Bing, who employed thousands of workers for seven years to cleave a passage through the surrounding mountainside and prevent the annual devastation of villages and farmland down river.

Qingcheng, meanwhile, is the birthplace of Chinese Taoism. The mountain is host to a dozen temples, 40 pavilions and several wobbly rope-bridges. The tranquillity of the setting was interrupted on the day of my visit by a sonic boom coming from a Chinese military jet fighter flying above.

On the road back to Chengdu lies the city of Dujiang, where dozens of restaurants are clustered along the banks of the Minjiang river. Here diners can enjoy a meal served amid boxes of live frogs, crabs and assorted, clucking, fowl. A banquet containing some of these anatomically diverse delicacies costs tourists little more than £10.

To the west lies the archeological treasure trove of the Sanxingdui Ruins. The modern complex is set amid beautiful traditional Chinese gardens and houses a stunning array of relics from the 3,000 year-old Shu civilisation. The cultural trail then heads south to Mount Emei, billed as one of the holiest places in Buddhism and which was completely refurbished (along with a modern cable car) after a fire devastated many of the summit's structures.

The environment here is treated with a surprising reverence for a nation rapidly emerging as the world's biggest polluter. A sign hanging above one the men's lavatories poetically urges: "You can enjoy the fresh air after a civilised urinating."

Emei, one of the key settings in David Mitchell's novel Ghostwritten, is the location for yet more temples and an enormous golden elephant best viewed at sunrise when the mountaintops seem to float on a sea of cloud. The summit is more than 3,000 metres above sea level; I had to take a couple of quick puffs on one of the freely provided oxygen cylinders after feeling the effects of the altitude.

We combined the trip up Emei with a visit to the Leshan Giant Buddha. At more than 60m tall it is the largest statue of its kind in the world, carved out of rock at the confluence of the Minjiang, Dadu and the Qingyi rivers. Its creator, an ambitious Tang Dynasty priest, hoped that the image would calm the treacherous waters from menacing shipping.

Yet despite all this striking antiquity, here in Sichuan are the roots of 21st-century China. This is where Mao's Long Marchers sought refuge on their epic retreat, and where the paramount leader's free-market successor, Deng Xiaoping, was born. It is here that the future is being hammered out in a blaze of new cities, factories and highways and where the region's long and illustrious past is being brought up to date for the tourist-citizens of an emerging superpower. Goodness only knows what Isabella Bird would have made of it.

Traveller's Guide

GETTING THERE

There are no direct flights between the UK and Chengdu. Connections are available with KLM (08705 074074; www.klm.com ) via Amsterdam. Thai Airways (0870 606 0911; www.thaiairways.co.uk ) flies from Heathrow via Bangkok and Singapore Airlines (0844 800 2380; www.singaporeair.co.uk ) flies via Singapore, with onward connections on Silkair.

To reduce the impact on the environment, you can buy an "offset" from Equiclimate (0845 456 0170; www.ebico.co.uk ) or Pure (020-7382 7815; www.puretrust.org.uk ).

Package tours are offered by CTS Horizons (020-7836 9911; www.ctshorizons.com ). Its 14-night Sichuan and Yunnan itinerary starts at £2,055 and includes flights, transfers, sightseeing, B&B accommodation and some meals.

STAYING THERE

Kempinski Hotel, Chengdu (00 86 28 8526 9999; www.kempinski.com ). Doubles start at CNY1,098 (£71), room only.

RED TAPE & MORE INFORMATION

British passport-holders require a visa to visit China. These can be obtained from the Embassy of the People's Republic of China, 31 Portland Place, London W1B 1QD (020-7631 1430, between 2pm and 4pm only; www.chinese-embassy.org.uk ) and cost £30 for a single entry.

China National Tourist Office: 020-7373 0888; www.cnto.org