It is funny how an arbitrary line on the map can make such a difference to how things feel. Like totally new government feels. Different planning rules and street signs and higher rates and corflutes advocating for the next new candidate for the next new government. It’s not quite the transformation one feels walking from France into Switzerland, but welcome to Queanbeyan, New South Wales.

Somehow in Queanbeyan the gardens feel more exotic. As if it is longing to be part of the South Coast while ignoring the spectre of winter frosts. Dusk welcomes shrieking rainbow lorikeets while engine braking emanates from the trunk road heading through town. Surprisingly cute tin and weatherboard cottages compete for space with the sturdy brick brown blocks of flats lining the river. Buzzing waterfront taqueria contrast with a roundabout Red Rooster.

This is the juxtaposition of Queanbo life. A not quite Canberra suburb, a not quite country NSW town. A probable temporary life for me, though there have been a few properties that could have cut the mustard to make it last longer. You do get more bang for your buck, but at what cost?

Okay, well rates are set to increase by more than 60% over the next three years. The Queanbeyan River can sometimes flood. Everywhere else seems just that little greater, gas-guzzling distance away. And – at least where I’ve been staying – I just haven’t had the same level of greenery from the door.

I did find a reasonable coffee shop where you can get a large coffee for less than a fiver. Yet this little miracle means walking a little along the Kings Highway and then deviating through Brad Haddin Oval where you are reminded of the irritating deeds of Brad Haddin.

It’s a graceful and elegant oval set among large shady trees. Old folk from a nearby retirement complex play bowls and shuffle upon the tennis courts. It doesn’t really feel like Brad Haddin but perhaps he has mellowed too, joining the likes of Glenn McGrath and Mitchell Johnson as somehow thoroughly likeable chaps. I have doubts if Nathan Lyon will ever get there.

Perhaps Queanbeyan will feel the same to me, if and when it is no longer in my face like an amped up baggy green rage fest. I’m sure also when I leave someone will have come up with the bright idea of putting a café somewhere between the town centre and Jerrabomberra, providing the opportunity to grab a morning coffee and head into the bush. For now, flask tea is the best option.

Mount Jerrabomberra has proven the proverbially island in the sea. I had walked it once, gently rising along the main fire trail to a summit view and radio transmitter. But there are many random tracks veering off here and there, a spaghetti network offering infinite choose your own adventure.

Even the bush seems a little different here. Maybe it is the geology or the aspect or the way in which it is or is not managed. But one thing it has in common with many a neighbour is the encroachment of sprawling suburbs, trees spilling downhill to lap at a new road, a new Aldi, a new McMansion.

Apparently the land rates in Jerrabomberra are some of the highest in the country. Technically this is a Queanbeyan suburb but feels as much as it actually is over the hill and far away. What strikes me, more than anything, is that it has a stronger Canberra air. I think in the grassy median strips and footpaths between the backs of houses, and the engineered waterways and looping crescents, moulded to the hilly contours of the land. There is even a lake, albeit small, albeit with palm trees and an island that could well be Mar-a-Lago down under.

There are secrets here to be unearthed. Transecting that fringe between the mansions and the wilderness, a lushly green gully, a flowery scent of undergrowth, a deepening expanse of gum trees and acacia. The forest seems to push on, becoming more impenetrable as you go, perhaps heading ever eastward all the way to the ranges and the coast. Or maybe coming up against Googong.

Googong is the newer Jerrabomberra, the modern type where the larger houses take up pretty much all of their small block and where a scattering of townhouses offer as much floor space as an apartment at twice the price. What’s the cost of stairs and a garage?

It took until my last Friday night of Queanbo life to make it to Googong, or more precisely the fringes of Googong, bypassed to reach its namesake dam. This is no ornamental pond with palm trees or cultivated lake with coffee shops, but an expansive, Windermere-esque ribbon of water running many miles from north to south. The Lake District parallels may come as a stretch but there was something comforting and lovely strolling upon its shores under golden evening light.

Critics may jape that this is the best view in Queanbeyan, mainly because Queanbeyan is a long way behind your back. How do I feel about the place after almost an eight week stay? The welcome to town signpost sums it up well: Country living, city benefits, though I’d argue there are also city annoyances to add to the list. But in the ultimate test of the ‘could I live here?’ conundrum, I was pleased to enjoy a decent coffee one final morning, served up from my regular go-to café. Where, just before I depart, they finally remember my name.