Pt2 - 3: ANZAC The bus to Ç anakkale (Chan- ack -ally) was a pleasant surprise, a state-of-the-art Mitsubishi cruiser with luxury reclining aircraft seats, spacious overhead lockers, huge panorama windows, air-con and a two-man crew – the driver and a conductor/attendant. It was fully booked, but once we settled in we could’ve been the only travellers on the bus. We were studying the route on our map when I heard something I suddenly realised I hadn’t heard for forty-six days, an Australian accent coming from a few seats further back. It was inevitable of course, since we were about to undertake the compulsory pilgrimage to Gallipoli, but I caught myself feeling mildly peeved Tess and I weren’t the only Aussies. I also caught myself thinking it was amazing we hadn’t come across any other Australians in the five days we spent traipsing around Istanbul. We nosed silently out of the Otogar, or Central Bus Station, at precisely 9:45 and within twenty minutes were on the outskirts of...
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