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Earlier this month, I was quarantined for suspected swine flu by Chinese officials in Dandong, at the Korean border.

It was a swift and decisive administrative act that separated me from my tour group in a remote city in China and placed me under medical observation in a local hospital. This in a place where I neither spoke nor understood the language nor the local geography, and with a non-refundable return ticket home on a plane flying in 36 hours. I was in their hands.

I had the misfortune of having a cold that was peaking just as I crossed an international border, exactly seven days — the incubation period for A/H1N1 virus — after transiting an American airport.

As our train rolled across the border into the Dandong station, it seemed like an attack from Mars: Our carriage was swarmed by beings in yellow, orange, green and blue isolation suits. Outside, the train was surrounded. Inside, they split into teams methodically checking every compartment. They entered the compartment of our tour group, blocked the door and waved small plastic gun-like devices. These they pointed at our foreheads and "fired."

The gun displayed a body temperature reading. Mine was high enough to cause a huge commotion. A space man, through his goggles and respirator, informed me that I must come into quarantine. Half a dozen of the space aliens escorted me to a nearby ambulance, accompanied by a Chinese woman from our tour group who volunteered to come with me as an interpreter.

The train was delayed in the station, and the spectacle of my removal was watched by all those aboard. Once in the ambulance, we whizzed through the streets with lights flashing and sirens screaming. One of the attendants (I couldn't tell whether male or female under the gear) spoke of a brother in Toronto.

When the ambulance reached the hospital there was more commotion, and we didn't enter for several hours. Meanwhile, various aliens approached regularly to take my temperature and fill out forms. We later learned the delay was caused by the apparent need to evacuate the entire hospital wing in which I was to be quarantined. While waiting, the aliens brought us an enormous quantity of KFC meals. "Don't throw the garbage around, though," they said. "This is an ambulance and we have to keep it clean."

Inside the hospital, I was placed in a basic but clean private room where I spent the night. I had a colour television and a window that opened to a view of the main street. I saw a man transporting a pile of mattresses two stories high in the most improbable way on his bicycle. The streets were busy with traffic, new cars in every make and model. Like everywhere in the new China, the skyline was punctuated with building cranes. It was the Chinese labour day weekend and through the urban smog, fireworks raked the sky.

A space alien delivered more KFC.

Next morning, I smoked and enjoyed the view. They don't have a problem with smoking in China and I felt pretty comfortable.

Again a being in protective gear delivered KFC. At this point, the bed was a mountain of fried chicken meals of every variety, tubs of coleslaw and bags of fries. The being told me she had a nephew in Vancouver.

They X-rayed me and took blood tests. The temperature checks continued. More KFC arrived.

About noon, a young man in gear entered the room. He removed his mask, smiled and introduced himself as a representative of the Chinese department of external affairs. "I worked at the consulate in Toronto for two years, very nice city," he said.

I now had a clean bill of health. He had been in contact with his counterpart in Ottawa to keep the Canadian government informed. He apologized profusely for any inconvenience, and advised that we merely awaited final approval for my release.

When that came, a group of uniformed officials accompanied us, again in a lights-and-sirens ambulance parade, to the train station. Officialdom had already procured me a timely train ticket in a comfortable first-class carriage to catch my flight in Beijing. They whisked us through the station and directly onto the train.

Before I left, a high-ranking officer in uniform approached me and bowed with great grace and dignity. "Please," he said, "come back to China."

Throughout my stay in the country at the start of my trip, and especially at this point, I was impressed by the unfailing courtesy, politeness, helpfulness and efficiency of Chinese officials. I don't question the decision to place me under quarantine, which turned out to be a pleasant adventure with VIP treatment. I enjoyed my little hospital vacation in China.

Last time there was an international pandemic threat, China was criticized for failing to take decisive and timely action. This time appears to be different.

Percy Toop lives in Toronto.