When I told people I was going to live in Australia for a year, they were full of enthusiasm about the places I would see. Ayer's Rock was a priority, I was told, and Sydney was packed with must-see sights. But the thing I was most looking forward to was meeting Australians - my best friend, who had returned home after working in London a year earlier, in particular, but as many others as possible as well.

'What do you want to meet Aussies for?' asked one fellow Pom. 'Aren't there enough of them over here?'
'But I'll be in Australia,' I tried to explain. 'I want to live like Australians do, to see what day to day life is like. Not just get pissed with other backpackers and tick sights off a list.'

For me, the essence of places is in the people that live there: in their everyday habits, their accents, the things they take for granted. You could take away the gorgeous weather and the scenery and I would still know I was in Australia, not London, if the bus driver smiled at my rucksack and asked where I was from and how I was doing. And it's so easy to get to know the natives, because the great Australian tradition of mateship, combined with a quiet pride in the country and solid conviction that it is the best in the world, means that most Australians are delighted if you take an interest in their local area. Quite apart from friends I already knew from London, I found myself inundated with genuine offers of accommodation and personalised tours as soon as I expressed a desire to get to know 'the real Australia'.

I decided at first that Australia was a happy hybrid of all the best aspects of the USA and UK. Great beaches; surf; weather; people who would happily talk to strangers; tanned and good-looking guys; cheap food and wine; and drive-through off-licenses - just like the US. Driving on the left; A4 paper; an interest in foreign affairs; decent tasting chocolate; and a sense of irony - just like the UK. But there's much more to Australia than that, including plenty that is unique to this special country.

One thing I quickly learnt about Australians is that their views of most backpackers were similar to mine. A backpacker bar was OK to go out to, one told me, 'if you want to get smashed and pull a European chick.' Another sighed at the tendency for foreigners to get themselves swept out to sea or eaten by crocodiles.

'You have this idea that Australia is such a dangerous place,' she moaned, 'but it's only the tourists who are stupid enough to get themselves into trouble.' She proceeded to give me a quick lesson in how to dive through the surf and tell me what to do if caught in a rip - things Australians are taught from birth, but that Brits never need to know because the main danger involved in swimming in the sea at home is hypothermia. See? Getting to know Australians could save your life!

It won't come as a surprise to many to learn that it is in Byron Bay that the love-hate relationship with the independent traveller is most clear cut. Here I heard numerous tales of woe from surfers whose home breaks had become overcrowded, and who lamented the backpacker tendency to socialise and travel in insular groups, despite the fact that Byron's economy is reliant on travellers booking their tours, activities and accommodation there.

Personally, I can think of nothing more off-putting than one infamous party tour packed with young travellers whose idea of 'experiencing' Australia seems to be glimpsing its natural wonders and beautiful cities through a drink-addled haze, while attempting to sleep with as many compatriots as possible.

It's not that I have anything against other backpackers per se. Of course I've met some great fellow travellers, people who've been friendly, helpful and generous. Who've lent me their mosquito repellent, advised me on bus timetables and shared their noodles. And they've recommended places to go that I've thoroughly enjoyed. But here's the thing - the places they recommended were places like Fraser Island, the Whitsundays, and Uluru. All places I would have visited anyway, because they were recommended in the guidebooks (not to mention being pushed at me from every oppressively sales-orientated travel shop).

They're beautiful spots, no question, and I wouldn't have considered a trip to Australia complete without them. But when I look back through my travel photos, the ones I like to talk about aren't the ones of me standing by some world-famous landmark like the Sydney Harbour Bridge. I'd much rather explain that the man on the rather non-descript beach is my surfing-instructor's 89-year-old grandfather, who I played cards with and made cups of tea for. That those cool-looking dudes are my mates from when I was working in Byron, where a lunch break could turn into a surf session. I like the pictures of my best friend's family unwrapping presents on Christmas morning. And I'm particularly fond of the one of my flatmate holding a glass of wine and looking like she's going to throw up.

The really special places I visited are ones that the locals took me to, like the waterfall swimming spots around Ballina or the cosy back-street café in Brisbane's Valley. The activities that felt like the most genuine Australian experiences weren't sea-kayaking with a bunch of Norwegian girls or walking the Overland Track with a couple from north London, fun though those were. They were things like playing pool and entering the meat raffle at a local pub, going to a rugby game and then out on the town with my Aussie friends, and driving my mate's jeep on the beach. Ask me about Sydney Opera House and I'll tell you it's great, but my best memory of it is that I sat next to a guy who'd had a season ticket every year since it opened and always booked the same seat. His wife used to have my place, he said sadly, in between giving me more information about past productions and the history of the building than a professional tour guide could.

Another advantage of living like a native is all the little things you get to find out about that the guide books don't tell you. Sure, we all know Australians are sports-obsessed, we've heard of Vegemite and, having lived with Aussies in London, I even knew to call flip flops 'thongs'. But do you know about Milo (a chocolate drink they sprinkle over ice cream)? Do you know the words to Waltzing Matilda? Can you tell the difference between a schooner and a pot of beer, and between footy in Queensland and footy in Victoria? Have you experienced for yourself the Australian inability to call someone anything other than a nickname? There are people I consider good friends whose real names I don't actually know because of this little foible, while in my turn I learned to tolerate being called 'Ruthie' - a moniker I usually despise.

Driving past the Mustang Bar in Brisbane one night, I told my Australian friend I'd been there before.

'I'm not surprised - that's such a backpacker place!' she rolled her eyes.
'Really?' I was surprised. 'I didn't talk to any backpackers. I was there with some friends from the Brisbane Philharmonia, they were playing in some jazz thing.'
'How do you know people from the Brisbane Philharmonia?'
'I played with them for three months last year. I wanted to keep up my cello playing and I thought it would be a good way to meet Australians.'
'Why do you want to meet Australians?'
'Because I'm in Australia!'
She looked at me and narrowed her eyes.
'Well,' she said eventually, 'you'd better get used to it, because as far as I can tell you're practically Australian yourself.'

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