Mask On, New Year Off

As Wuhan got upgraded to a level two warning, and got a travel ban for its Lunar New Year present, the whole country seemed to kick into gear. What stuck out over the first week?

1. Social media: On WeChat and Weibo, posts about wearing masks and avoiding the virus circulated quickly. Everyone posted selfies in their masks. Thankfully, there were quite a few high-quality memes to enjoy. Hashtags and articles were used to spread information quickly and posts I saw had thousands of views and comments. Medical apps were used so remote doctors could talk to worried patients without going to a hospital.

2. Changing plans: There were seven movies scheduled to be released over the New Year break and their release dates were postponed. Tour groups were banned from Wuhan. Families canceled big dinner plans. Other large-scale events were either canceled or postponed. People abandoned their traveling and went home to wait it out. Lunar New Year was effectively over.

3. Quick policies: Subways began screening for the virus. Public places and public transportation were disinfected regularly. People didn’t have to pay for hospital care. In Wuhan, people could be prosecuted for not wearing a mask. Cities were locked down. Overseas tour groups were canceled. These policies were not without issue, but they were implemented quickly.

4. Social buy-in: Didi, the ride-sharing app, encouraged users to wear masks and their drivers were forced to. Shop owners did the same with handmade signs. People encouraged those from Wuhan to report to authorities. Hawkers sold masks to tourists instead of trinkets. Friends checked-in with friends and everyone seemed to be aware that there was a problem, making sure everyone had access to information. When the virus got upgraded to a class A, thirty new rules were implemented to maintain peace and decency.

Extra security being extra cautious.

With all of this going on, it was hard to get it off your mind. It was also disappointing that the virus had begun at the end of December and things took so long to change. At a club we went to, people were dancing and partying in their masks. I tried to get a date with a girl who’d studied in Manchester and she flatly turned me down, saying the risk of hanging out with a stranger far outweighed the reward. While the risk level in Xi’an was low, it didn’t make sense to do otherwise.

I’d worn a mask a few times in the U.S., the longest time being during the two weeks my boss had the flu right before I went to South Korea. People looked at me like I was insane. In China, it felt like you were insane for not wearing one. It was an effective way to change behavior for the better and within a few days nearly everyone wore one outside. We opted for indoors as well, since we had nobody to impress and they didn’t really get in the way. We even took to wearing our masks to bed while others were in the hostel room with us.

The main issue at the time was deciding whether or not to cancel our travel plans. We were scheduled to be in Beijing not long after the outbreak really took hold and we waited and waited and waited to see if the city would get a travel ban. the most severe policy at the time.

An empty Xi'an just before we left.

The next day everything in Beijing was canceled. More flights from Wuhan had gone to Beijing than anywhere else. Speculation was that infection estimates were far too low – or not being reported accurately. Things didn’t immediately improve (as we knew they wouldn’t) and Trevor was the first to cancel his trip to the northern capital. Jake got his ticket refunded since his visa was good for several years, preferring to stay in the U.S. Nobody could blame him.

Anthony and I got progressively more worried as we stayed cooped up in Xi’an, talking about where else we could have gone for the break and reading the news. The U.S. and Thailand both sounded pretty good to us, even as we sat and looked out at the historical wall covered in lights that surrounded the ancient city.

We knew we weren’t in the heart of the problem, but when we walked out into a ghost town – where there are usually thirteen million residents and tourists – it wasn’t reassuring. Some of it was certainly new year festivities taking place at home, but that didn’t make us feel much better. News was coming to us via WeChat, the Internet, emails, texts, and from friends around the country and beyond. I went to bed to the news and woke up to the news, looking for updates about Xi’an and the counties around Qingtian. I just wanted to be back in my cozy apartment, my isolated paradise. After coordinating all the travel for us and for Jake, a few days of isolating myself sounded pretty nice. I had a lot of writing to catch up on. At home, I’d get groceries and essentials and then begin hibernating.

I booked my flight to Wenzhou and train to Qingtian for the next day as Anthony decided on his plan. I had to decide which route was safer: flying to Hangzhou and taking a longer train ride, or a longer flight to Wenzhou and a shorter train ride. One friend said Hangzhou was safer. One said Wenzhou. Anthony's flight ended up being the same day, giving him a few hours to pack and get ready. I paid extra to change mine earlier too and go the hell home even before my original flight.

Outside, cars still flew by on the North Ring Road and people lived their lives, but there was a general sense of unease among everyone we met. It was hard to trust anyone. I’d read recently about strong and weak ties, the interconnectedness of people (not dissimilar to six degrees of separation) and this outbreak seemed to highlight the power of those connections as the rate of infection was high enough to sustain the life of the virus. Fifty-three million people are under travel bans as I write this and it’s pure luck Xi’an wasn't one of the cities. I’ve no idea what we would do if we couldn’t leave. (Not long after we left, Xi'an canceled inter-city buses and ride-sharing apps.)

At the airport in Xi'an, nearly everyone wore a mask and it seemed like everyone stared at the few who didn’t, willing them to get their shit together. I stopped at the pharmacy in the airport and they were sold out of masks – a problem becoming common across the region. The government was importing them as fast as possible and factories were rushing to reopen, promising up to four times the usual pay. At the time, I didn’t know masks in some New York City pharmacies had already been out for a week. I filled up my water bottle and was happy to go without food or coffee in order to refrain from taking my mask off as much as possible on the plane. There just wasn’t any good reason to. We’d arrived early to go through security, preferring to be safe and not miss our flights. Anthony was deciding whether or not he’d return to the U.S. for last two weeks of the break, although everyone seemed to recommend that he stay in China.

I was surprised we made it through security without any additional health screening. I wasn’t sure if that was a vote of confidence or not. More worrying was the mask shortage. I reached out to both Trevor and my coordinator at school to make sure I could get the high-quality N95 ones that were the best. I’d try to find a pharmacy near the train station in Wenzhou and if not, first thing when I got a chance in Qingtian. After security, I wanted to share what I’d written so far but had trouble being sure there would be no ramifications. I knew posts were being taken down and the government was certainly monitoring the online situation. There was a lot that couldn’t be said.

Night market in the Muslim Quarter.

One article I read estimated the time before the virus dissipated entirely could be around eight months. I wondered if foreign teachers would stay or go, possibly breaking their contracts. I’d read some WeChat messages between expats in Wuhan and things didn’t sound good. At least one foreigner, quickly turned into a meme, was hysterical and unreasonable in her messages. Would that attitude spread? Was there any reason to stay? I couldn't abandoned my kids without reason. I’d talk to my coordinator, who had access to higher-ups in the area and see what he thought. Trevor said he was sticking it out until the end of the year and I was glad to hear it.

When I got on the plane my coordinator texted me. He said I should grocery shop for two weeks and plan on staying in my apartment the whole time. It didn’t sound like a suggestion. He did take food and masks to my place since grocery stores were still closed and some supplies were selling for high prices. It was especially helpful as I’d left the kitchen bare in anticipation of a longer trip. I didn’t really mind the home-stay since it was the right thing to do and so far my travels had been nothing but trouble. A part of me did wish my plane was headed to ORD, where I knew my grandparents would be waiting with big smiles. Instead, I ordered another book, Shoe Dog, and thought about all the Chinese lessons I could have. (I could feel eyes on me as I typed in the cabin, the same way I’d felt with my camera out in Xi’an.)

It surprised me that they served both drinks and food on the three-hour flight, knowing everyone in the cabin would take their mask off at the same time. It seemed quite unnecessary and I’d vowed not to remove my mask on the plane, but they had dumplings… I let my coffee cool before chugging it and eating all eleven dumplings in eleven bites. When they had extra, I did it again. Oh well. (I also planned on taking home all the non-perishables but ended up eating them as I waited for the train in Wenzhou.) Other people around me left their masks off for a while, seeming visibly relaxed and it was hard to tell if I was paranoid or they lacked information. I was the only foreigner on board.

I knew we’d been careful but since information was so late in coming to the public in China, it was possible we hadn’t been careful for long enough. I thought about the nights we’d partied in Xi’an without masks and the six other guys in the hostel room. All I could really hope for was good health. Two weeks alone was a light punishment for our sins. Many of my coworkers are holed up in villages and towns with their families – not having gone anywhere risky. I was the only one out on the run and it really felt that way when I got to the nearly-deserted Wenzhou train station.

Empty station in Wenzhou.

Wenzhou's emptiness was unsettling, especially compared to the massive crowds I’d struggled through in Hangzhou just two weeks before. Everyone was quiet and spread out. In Qingtian, medical staff were waiting at the exit – along with new security personnel. I stood in front of the temperature scanner. They waved me on. When I got home, I threw everything from the trip in the wash and put my luggage in the spare bedroom with the balcony door open before I took off my mask. I didn’t know if it would help to “quarantine” my stuff, but it made me feel better. I fell into bed, exhausted.

In the morning, I made a cup of coffee and looked out over my school. A car drove by, the only one for a few minutes. It was strange, sad even, to see the campus devoid of all life. It was usually so busy, so loud. I just hoped that the kids, the soul of the place, were safe. I needed to go to the grocery store and the pharmacy. It was time to get to work. I had two weeks to go.

(More to come.)