Monday, Jan. 21

We wake up around 10 AM, and I have some coffee. My wife has warm honey water. I remember to share a daily mantra with my stoic philosophy group online. We have a good little discussion and continue with our day.

We get in touch with my journalist colleague Sasha and our cameraman Deng. We agree to meet at high noon to shoot a Chinese Spring Festival Shopping Gala at the Nanping Convention Center. I kind of want to cancel, but decide not to.

I wear a mask on the subway, but I notice I am the only one. I feel comfortable even though I feel the weight of stares. Normally people in China only wear masks when they are sick, as a kindness to others.

I see Sasha waiting for me as the big glass doors open up. She's wearing a mask, and points to some live chickens and says they scare her. Deng arrives and sets up his camera, and we roll.

We come to a sausage vendor, surrounded by old ladies brandishing toothpick swords. The crew encourages me to try a bite. I try to get my wife to eat it for me, but she's not so interested. I cave and say I'll do it for the camera.

Shot the video with Sasha on a Spring Festival Shopping Fair.

The guy is cutting slow, and the moment a piece of sausage is on the cutting board, an old lady or man reaches out and stabs it up. I'm reminded of trips to Costco in Ottawa with my dad, and the casual way the samples people prep food so slowly, enticing large crowds to gather and jostle around for the chance at a bite of a pepperoni pizza pretzel.

The butcher looks up, calling me a foreigner. An old man and a couple of old ladies smile, waving me closer. I slip my mask down off my face and agree.

We pass some live chickens, and Sasha puts her mask on right away. I follow suit, not really knowing why but on some level, humans are group animals. It's why we yawn together, we take these silent cues from the herd. We pass quickly, and she relaxes, and I do the same.

We find a wild honey stand. It looks good. I try a spoonful of the creamy one, holding it out to the camera. It's delicious, and we take a big bottle full. My wife bargains from 120 RM a pound to 80 RMB a pound. The bottle is 3 pounds, for 240 kuai or about $50 Canadian. Anyway, it's a treat, and we'll enjoy it. We continue on.

We find some tapestries and wood carvings from Nepal that look nice, but we don't buy any.

I try a glass of their camel milk. I'm surprised how sweet it is.

We finish up and get back on the subway, and I get my mask back on.

We make it to downtown and spend some time with Lin's family. We get coffee, walk around and play. Someone on the periphery sneezes and my lizard brain spins around, calculates distance and wind velocity. They're 15 meters away in an outdoor square, but I still hurry the family along the other way and pull my mask up.

My 17-year-old niece invites me to join her in a zombie apocalypse escape room. Is it V.R., I ask? No. Live-action escape house of zombie horrors. I mulled it over, but I usually try to say yes when adventure calls. 130 RMB later, we are suited up in camp fatigues, and we get a laser gun with 49 charges. They push us into a dark hallway and tell us to close our eyes and count to ten.

The next hour of my life was straight out of a horror movie.

In the sixth room, an old rotary phone rings on a desk full of messy papers. My niece answers it, and they speak in Chinese. I understand very little, but we continue to explore.

I can smell the gasoline filling my nose, and the sound of a revving chainsaw engine is so loud in the darkness. I seriously think I might have a heart attack. Crawling in the darkness, chased on all sides. It was completely terrifying.

We walk around, tasting street food, and relaxing.

We stay up late - maybe 2 AM, and then go to bed. I slip an earbud into my ear and listen to some YouTube news coverage. First cases are discovered in Beijing and Shenzen, and there is an ominous tone to the coverage. It's the not knowing that creates panic.