I stood at the bar, which is quite an adventure for a teetotaler like me, drinking an equal blend of orange and cranberry juices over ice. Nearby, a white-haired gentleman in his 70s sat facing a handsome young man of 20-something. The two were knee to knee, leaning forward on stools, with their lips locked in a deep-throat kiss.

I could not help but note the tenderness as the young man pulled away and stroked his elder's cheek. They cooed at one another for awhile and then they left together, arm in arm, obviously deeply in love.

The next evening, I was engaged in animated conversation with a young man from Argentina who had expressed surprise at my accent when I addressed a Cuban in Spanish. "I hear my country in the way you speak," he had said to me, and then struck up a nice chat when he found out that I had once lived in Buenos Aires and thus had a tracery of the Argentine in my speech patterns,

As we spoke I noticed the handsome young man from the night before sitting alone at the bar nearby, gazing at me intently. I assumed his older companion had stepped away for a moment, and for the next hour, I chatted in succession with an Italian, a Frenchman and the guy from Buenos Aires in those three languages (in none of which I am truly fluent).