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296 DAYS IN THE SUN
which to sit and talk; only cold and dirty wine-cellars,
and we were very chilled and tired. Nor was the wait-
ing-room of the station very appetizing; furthermore,
it was closed after the departure of each train. So we
dragged ourselves through the streets in bad humor,
with the prospect of spending our time uncomfortably
until midnight. We cursed the lying owner of the post-
coach, we cursed the inefficiency and unreliability of
Andalusia, and became quite enthusiastic remembering
the comforts and dependable habits in our home coun-
try—the sandwich buffet, and the upholstered seats in
the waiting-rooms, and the incomparable trustworthi-
ness of the population. Then we dropped into a dirty
wine-shop—at least to enjoy the discomfort of a
wooden bench.
Gradually a few workingmen gathered in the place;
most of them had musical instruments with them.
They were in their working dress, but their hats and
boots were as elegant as they always are with the
Andalusians. I assumed at first that it was an amateur
orchestra; but it turned out that it was a quite acci-
dental meeting. Most of the young men of Andalusia
play the guitar and in remote places like Guadix they
usually take their instruments with them when they go
out looking for entertainment in the evening.
Each of them ordered a glass of wine, some of them
leaving it standing before them for a long time. Then
they alternated in singing love songs to their own ac-
companiment—these sad Spanish coplas, which all
sound alike to the ear of the northerner. They have
no complicated melodies of the kind we like, nor have -
they any songs with more than one part. But three
of them—common workingmen—played very charm-
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