I'm surrounded by a bus full of under 30-year olds, shiny faced and weary from the weight of their belongings, engrossed in their respective copies of '50 Shades of Grey'. Compared to Vietnam three years ago, I'm literally paying ten times as much for this nine hour overnight bus ride. There we got beds, here we're afforded a coach seat that reclines an unsympathetic two inches. Alas. I suppose one good thing about night buses in Australia is that bus drivers tend not to stop en route for extra passengers (cash in hand) who then sleep in the aisles or, if you're really unlucky, top to tail on your own mattress. Cosy! Here in Australia life isn't so drastic and (as embarrassed as I am to admit this) I rather miss climbing over reclining bodies to get to the toilet in the middle of the night.

Nonetheless, the tropical storm blazing outside my window is more than making up for the lack of drama. It's dark at 7.30pm and every thirty seconds or so lightning strikes, illuminating the open countryside in a sudden flash of bright white electricity. You can make out the flat line where the earth meets the sky and a few lone trees in the distance and then you're plunged back into darkness with only your tired reflection for entertainment. That's the thing about the east coast - just when you think you might as well be in England (fish and chips on the beach, jam & scones for tea, buses that don't run on time...) mother nature slaps you round the face with a great big tropical palm leaf.

It would be rude to explore the east coast here and not have a peek at life on the Great Barrier Reef. I'm not a wildlife enthusiast. Just the word 'wildlife' conjures up unwelcome images of Michaela Strachan, khaki long shorts and unshaven legs. The thing is you can't help but be blown away by the bright and downright surreal here.

Only the other day I was checking out of a hostel when someone literally handed me a green tree frog. This chubby fella (later christened Bernard) was happy jumping from person to person, sticking to people's t-shirts with his squidgy little 'spiderman' paws. I would have been quite happy to take Bernard along with me but I'm not sure he would have coped well with the night buses. And then there was 'Siphon the Python' of Port Stephens who was a relaxing companion to have slithering along the back of my neck until he circled a second time (at that point I think I'd had enough).

As a result of all of this I've sold my soul to the Steve Irwin school of over-enthusiastic adventuring; chasing every rustle in the bushes, scaling underwater landscapes of coral for secretive fish. The illusion of me as 'intrepid explorer extraordinaire' is usually shattered when I realise my hot pink t-shirt has already scared off whatever it was I was about to chase. Where are those khaki long shorts when you need them?! Having said that, I was stalked by a very handsome blue butterfly the other day, who mistook my cyan flip flops for a mating partner. If only the 21st century dating scene were as straightforward.

Diving amongst the Great Barrier Reef was humbling to say the least. It was just like London fashion week; outrageous headwear teamed with neon stripes and iridescent splodges of colour from all sides of the spectrum - lime, red, magenta... They purse their botoxed lips as they glide around, so fat-deprived that at certain angles they disappear from sight entirely. Just like London fashion week.

For me though, it's all about the giant clams. These massive mollusks (some four-foot long) ooze personality with electric blue designs and wavy lips that give them an absurd 'Charlie Brown'-esque vulnerability. You can have a lot of fun with these things, judging at what distance they will react to your invading presence. Their immediate response is to clench up like a pair of intimidated bum cheeks and expel enormous bursts of flatulence from either hole (...out pops a frustrated 'Charlie Brown' speech bubble: "AAUGH!")

I came upon a giant turtle who was, like I, happily surveying the colourful coral at the kind of leisurely pace you rarely notice up on land, except perhaps at over-80's bingo nights. Having grown up with 'Jurassic Park' it was hard to believe this enormous prehistoric creature was actually real and not some mechanical puppet. Surely its slow-motion, effortless strides were controlled by a props technician somewhere?! When I caught up with him he was more than happy for me to swim alongside. I half-expected him to start relating his life story to me, like the very friendly local bus driver I met the previous week in Byron Bay. A proper wise old gent, this turtle wore his battered shell and thick skin with pride and satisfaction. Perhaps he'd have a hard time remembering his age, like my 94 year old Grandad.

It got me thinking; I really ought to take a leaf out of this turtle's book. Here I am, racing up the east coast at a ridiculous pace, with barely enough time to consult the map, let alone process any of these experiences. Here is a turtle cruising around at 2mph in no hurry for anything, entirely happy with his lot. I suppose when you get to his age you realise there's not a lot to get flustered about, you may as well enjoy life and take things in your stride. Unless a shark turns up and then you probably would get a bit of a jog on.

Recently I had the fortune of meeting a bunch of life-loving Aussie guys in their 50's/60's hanging out in a pub in Mission Beach. A couple of devastating cyclones have destroyed much of the area and tourist industry but these guys don't seem touched. Every time a cyclone hits town they congregate in a concrete-built house and party for three days straight, making bets on the consequences of the storm outside. They expect another storm but they don't live by the expectation of it.

So the Australian mentality is this: It takes an age to get anything done but you have one helluva time doing it and the deep lines as proof. In short, live like a turtle.