It was close to 8.00pm when the bus dropped me off in Eceabat, a town near the battlefields of Gallipoli. A sign pointed to Anzac House, which currently housed my tour party from FEZ. I was on crutches with a heavily sprained ankle, a result of a drunken fall down a flight of steps in Rome a few weeks back. Walking through the front door I was greeted by my tour guide and the owner of the barhostel, they had already sent the group that afternoon for the tour of the battlefields and midday service, and most of the group were in the lounge watching Gallipoli the Movie. Gutted at missing out on the tour and not having a bed for the night booked, I took it upon myself to have a beer or two to
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