Look but don't touch

R and I had both flitted to the sparse section in our Rough Guide covering Cuba's gay scene and worked out where on the Malecon - Havana's promenade next the sea - the local guys hang out.  After dinner in the Verdao district and several mojitos too many we were emboldened.

A basic open air cafe perched beside a petrol station was pretty much it.  The crowd was young and a little bit desperate.  There were several older European guys chatting to some of the kids - bit predatory and we moved to a spot where we could watch but not get overly hassled.  We were already being devoured by a 40-something munchkin whose eyes pretty much said where's the knife and fork.

Extraordinarily everyone around us was using sign language - an attempt to avoid detection and persecution? A means to communicate in a clandestine manner across crowded spaces?  My mind raced across the desperate possibilities as the hand gestures became more obscene.

Or maybe they were deaf.  Yup - we had found ourselves within a niche (within  a niche) within Cuban society.  The 40-something munchkin could get by without hearing aids but hated wearing them. The rest of the guys were completely deaf.  With negligible Spanish ourselves we had some of our longest conversations. I'd like to take a picture of you and put it in my pocket and go back to your hotel for a foursome came across loud and clear.