My Indian weekend lasted a little longer when my parents and I left Delaware and traveled north to a small religious settlement in Pennsylvania, somewhere between Harrisburg and Reading. While I was aware of our plans, and had even printed out directions beforehand, I never really thought about my role in this pilgrimage beyond that of a driver. I am not a very religious person, and there wasn't much to do here but pray and sleep. The cell phones lacked service, so we turned them off. I had also left my ESPN magazines at my cousin's house, so I had nothing to read. Basically, I napped a lot and survived. Still, it all felt a little... Amish.
(Author's note: this is the second time I've featured the late Alexander Godunov in a blog photo this past week. And yes, that's Viggo Mortensen peeking through.)
While in southern Pennsylvania we encountered our first Amish person, a bearded and hatted man who graciously pulled his carriage aside so the motored cars could pass him by. I didn't get a good look at his mode of transportation, but I could tell it operated at 3 horsepower.
"Go forth, kind man," I whispered under my breath. "You be careful out among the English."