Two days before Osh erupted, my BBC colleagues and I dined at the city's sole international restaurant. It was a balmy evening, and we were shown to a table on the terrace.
But our absorption in the menu was interrupted by an embarrassed waitress; the other group on the terrace didn't like us so close, and we would have to move. At the neighbouring table a group of men in shiny suits had a half-eaten banquet laid out before them, and they were drinking vodka toasts. More to the point, they were being looked after by an intimidating bunch of heavies. We moved.
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