How a weekend in Bungendore filled our cups (and our glasses)
Just under 40 minutes from Canberra, by road or train, lies a place that invites you to pause. Bungendore is where fireside chats, open mics, and warm welcomes converge. The food is seasonal, the stories are homegrown, and every corner feels like a warm exhale. We came looking for stillness and left full of connection, good food, and the kind of quiet that stays with you.
Truffles, Playlists & Realtalk
We’d been talking about a weekend away for months. Life kept getting in the way. Work deadlines. Birthday dinners. Too many “absolutely keen” group chats with zero follow- through. Suddenly it was May, and our plan was sitting in the digital too-hard basket. What the three of us wanted was simple: a short escape, great food, real connection, and space to exhale.
Then one late-night scroll broke the cycle. A soft, misty image of Bungendore appeared on my feed; all foggy paddocks, golden light, and unassuming charm. It wasn’t curated, shouty, or overly filtered. It felt grounded. Honest. Quiet. Bungendore is the kind of under-the-radar town that quietly invites you in, wrapping you in hospitality, local flavour, and a creative spirit that runs deep through its streets. I messaged the girls: “Found it. Booked it. Pack your chill.”
On a Friday mid-morning, cruising the Kings Highway with our trusty playlist (Fleetwood Mac to Cardi B, as tradition dictates), Bungendore greeted us with wide streets, heritage shopfronts, and that unmistakable sense of slowing down.
We slipped into wind-down mode instantly: wandering from gallery to gallery. Bungendore Fine Art, the beautifully curated gallery of Suki & Hugh, and X Gallery, where local silversmith Xanthe shaped her latest jewellery collection right in front of us (cue the collective should we start jewellery-making? moment).
Coffee came from Gunna Doo Bakery — a name eerily aligned with the vibe of our group chat for the past six months. Pastries in hand, we browsed the nostalgia-filled Bungendore Leather & Trading Co, thendrifted into Sage Natural Living for ethically sourced homewares and a hit of calm, very us. It felt good to not rush.
That afternoon, we landed at Sapling Yard’s new in-town cellar door. Owner and winemaker Carla welcomed us like old friends, pouring tastings that challenged our assumptions (and convinced us to leave with half a dozen bottles). The cellar door shares a space with Scrumpers Kitchen, where the scent of slow- cooked Lebanese zucchini with lamb and rice was impossible to ignore. Chef-owner Ruth cooks only with local, sustainable produce; much of it available next door at Southern Harvest Community Store, a volunteer-run gem connecting the region’s best growers and makers.
Our home for the weekend: The Carrington Inn, a heritage stay that smells like woodsmoke and feels like a weighted blanket. That night, we took a 7-minute sunset stroll to The George Bar and Dining, a cosy local favourite where we warmed up by the fire and tucked into 12-hour beef cheeks. You could smell the heart in every dish — bold, seasonal, and proudly local.
But wait.. there’s more..
Saturday is market day. If you’ve ever questioned whether weekend markets can feed the soul, Southern Harvest Farmers Market will convince you. The aromas — truffle oil, honey sticks, sourdough whispered of slower, more intentional living. We impulse-bought cheese, preserves, and a jungle of fresh herbs. We wandered through The Malbon, a creative precinct of antiques, florals, and artisans. It’s here we discovered internationally renowned Jerusha McDowell Photography — rolling landscapes, hazy mornings, horses at dawn. Stillness captured. It had us momentarily convinced we could quit our jobs and buy a piece of country. We didn’t. But we did Google local real estate.
That night, we rallied — slightly full, very happy — and headed to the Royal Hotel. Open mic night is a full-blown community affair. Localswith guitars. A mix of bangers and heartbreakers. A spontaneous group singalong. Zero judgment, maximum joy. We even got up and sang. Badly. But with confidence.
Sunday arrived soft. Oat flat whites, potato cakes, and butter mushrooms at The Gathering Café. Golden eggs. Onion marmalade. Zero rush. No one was checking emails. No one cared what time it was. We just… lingered. Before we hit the road, we joined a Blue Frog Truffle hunt. Boots on, jackets zipped, we followed a trained truffle dog through misty rows of oak trees, watching as it paused, pawed, and led us to buried treasure. After the dig, we warmed up with earthy soup and simple tastings that let the truffle shine.
Bungendore didn’t shout for our attention. It just welcomed us in and gave us space to breathe. By the time we hit the highway, we’d renamed our group chat: Gunna Doo Again (for real this time).
Written for Visit Queanbeyan-Palerang.