Quick Post: The Sweet Potato Man

I'd rather see him than The Gingerbread Man any day.

Occasionally, from my fourth-floor, street-facing apartment, I can hear the drones of a Buddhist chant echoing down the street. However, it doesn't come from a temple nor from the monks' periodic charity marches through the city. It's also quite loud, as it's pushed through a speakerphone mounted on a truck, like many of the advertising vans and election boats. I can even understand the message, and it's not something I think a typical Buddhist monk would bother to chant...

"Sweet Potato! Delicious!" it translates, and it doesn't lie.

The chanting truck is our local version of the ice cream van from when we were little. Adults and children both will race out to catch the truck as it passes to purchase roasted halves of large sweet potatoes. I should note, sweet potatoes in Japan are literally sweet, not simply relatively so compared to other potatoes.

I've heard the The Sweet Potato Man pass by our apartment several times this year. Usually he's gone by the time I race down the three flights of stairs. One time I had only just missed him, as he was turning the corner down the opposite street. My husband did reach him one time and bought several for us, but I myself had not been lucky enough to catch him...

My prize: two freshly roasted sweet potato halves for ¥500.

... until today.

Quick Post: A Trip to the Gas Station

Dean and I don't have a car and can easily utilize the public transportation for most of our needs, so our only experience with the gas station has been a walk to retrieve more kerosene for the winter heater.

I had the pleasure of stopping by a gas station in the car of one of my students, and we pulled up to the full service pump. "Is this normal?" I asked. "It's very unusual in America." Of course, we used to have full service stations, and if you look hard enough in big cities, you can find one or two, but generally, the drivers of the U.S. rush through self-serve stations and automatic car washes for their immediate vehicular needs.

The gentleman at the pump (who didn't have a spot of grease on him that I could tell) quickly set off to fill the tank. He came back with a clean, wet rag for us to use on the dash and our side of the windows while he washed the outside facing panes with soap and water. The experience was over in about two minutes, and the car seemed fresher without our having to get out.