[Editor’s note: This is part one in a two-part feature. Part two will run next Tuesday.]

China, I love you. I love your food, your cheap commodities and your culture. And whenever I visit you, I feel like I’ve come home (even though I was born in West Virginia). So even though I don’t particularly appreciate having my CNN stories filtered, I forgive you because you’re inextricably a part of me.

But after a flight your way on June 16 and for the subsequent week this summer, you seriously pissed me off.

As the plane came to a halt, I was expecting and almost looking forward to the usual sounds of 100 seat belts collectively un-clicking as well as the unavoidable push and shove to get our carry-on items from the overhead compartments.

But there was nothing but an eerie silence, which was really weird since Chinese people are known to be a little impatient (especially after a 17-hour trans-Pacific flight).

About five or six men and women decked out in hazmat suits entered the plane and began pointing temperature guns at our foreheads one-by-one. It wasn’t a big surprise — China had been doing this daily for months and months prior to our arrival to quarantine anyone with signs of H1N1, or swine flu. They continue to do so (to a lesser extent) even now. We held our breath as a handful of people with temperatures were whisked off the plane into what seemed like oblivion.

Luckily, no one in my family had a fever, so we were given the go-ahead to finally enter Shanghai. Man, was I glad to be back! I couldn’t wait to get my hands on real authentic Chinese food (because, I hate to break it to you, but no Shanghai native has EVER heard of Kung Pao or Orange chicken).

Unfortunately, after only three days of doing the usual tourist-y stuff in Shanghai, we received a call at 11 p.m. Apparently, a passenger near my family had checked into a hospital with “flu-like symptoms.” Therefore, in about 15 minutes, we needed to pack all our belongings and be ready to be shipped off to a quarantine area. Only two thoughts raced through my head: a more colorful variation of the word “fiddlesticks” and, “Man, I want to kick this guy’s flu-ridden ass.”

So at 11:15 p.m. on the dot, another hazmat-clad official knocked on our hotel door (Just how did they track us down so fast? We never even told them where we were staying).

Our belongings were thrown helter-skelter into various bags and suitcases. We were issued face masks and marched out into the lobby. There, we were greeted by two plainclothes undercover agents who were planted there to make sure we didn’t escape — no, I am not making this up. 

Ah yes, the looks of panic that crossed the faces of people we passed were classic. Call me mean, but I wonder what would’ve happened if I faked a cough in their direction.

We were led outside and directed to, naturally, an ambulance! Really, China? What a huge waste of time and resources. Shouldn’t you instead be helping to rebuild the earthquake-devastated region of Sichuan? Or what about aiding the horrifically impoverished farmers in the countryside? Why is a foreign family who exhibits no symptoms of a sickness that has been proven to be about as fatal as the common flu getting priority over these critical domestic issues?

The ambulance sped across the highway, sirens and all. Whether it was an attempt to show off, an excuse to waste even more money or a sincere gesture of goodwill — we learned that our “quarantine location” for the next week would be a four-star hotel.

Angelina She is a freshman physiology and neurobiology major. She can be reached at she at umdbk dot com.