Men in masks

Walking through SFO to our boarding gate, I notice clusters of people wearing face masks. I’ve been listening to the radio throughout the past week, so I’m not surprised that the fear of the HINI virus has spread worldwide at this point. But the sight of people wearing surgical masks going about their travel-related business is still jarring.

During the bird flu outbreak in 2004, we were in Vietnam. Although the media was wild with worst case scenarios, I felt far away from any real threat. Then several months into the outbreak, word went around among our expat friends that there was the possibility we wouldn’t be able to leave the country: a national quarantine. That created quite a few shock waves throughout our community.

About the same time, I was picking up some clothes at the tailor who I visited several times a month and I noticed for the first time a makeshift chicken farm right next door. Something that had never registered before was suddenly a source of extreme paranoia.

I’m thinking of all these memories when we land in Tokyo en route to Bangkok and an announcement rings through the cabin. Japanese health officials are going to board the plane with special temperature-reading equipment. We’re ordered to fill out newly created forms detailing potential signs of illness (fever? cough? cohabitation with anyone showing aforementioned symptoms?) and wait for half an hour for the officials to board the plane.

When I get my first glimpse, it’s like something out of a sci-fi movie: a group of about ten Japanese men and women, each looking like they’re prepared to explore a toxic waste dump. Blue surgical gowns taped shut in the back, hair covered in blue shower caps, high-tech breathing masks, safety goggles, plastic gloves and rubber booties. As they file down the aisle of the plane, several passengers discreetly raise their mobile phones trying to snap a photo.

The head health honcho has what looks like a digital camera which he points at each row, checking for elevated temperatures. I half-expect the contraption to erupt in some kind of horrible alarm, as certain individuals are hooded and saran wrapped then forcibly ushered from the plane with grappling hooks, never to be seen in immigration or customs.

We sit on the plane for over an hour before being allowed to disembark, with the order that no one will be allowed off the plane unless wearing one of the complimentary face masks. Flash forward five hours and we're landing in Bangkok without fanfare, promptly exiting the plane as soon as the “Fasten Seat Belt” lights go off.

Thinking back on it, I realize that the contagion kabuki that I witnessed is decidedly Japanese. In the Tokyo airport, I visit the bathroom and each of the toilets have an elaborate console with various buttons, including one for “cleaning the buttocks with warm water” and another for “hiding the flush sounds with soft music.” This is a country with a very high tolerance for bacteria.