The Saxon villages in autumn: who holds the key, and when to go

In summer, Viscri has coaches. From September it has cows in the street again, smoke from the plum-brandy stills and, most days, nobody in front of the church. It is the moment the Saxon villages look closest to what they actually are: farming villages with a fortress in the middle, where people are busy. If you get one season a year to see them, take this one. But autumn has its own rules, and the first is that the church does not open by itself.

Why autumn, not summer

The light is the argument I give most often, and it is true: the sun sits lower, the hills turn yellow, and the limewashed walls take on a colour they never have in July. But the light is not the main reason.

The main reason is that in autumn the village is working, and you can see it. The plums are in, so in October the stills are running and you smell it in the street before you see it. Cabbage is being put up, potatoes are coming out, and the sheep come down from the mountain and pass through the village with their shepherds and dogs. In the evening the cows come back from pasture and each one turns in at her own gate, with nobody driving her. None of it is put on for visitors; it is how a day goes, and in summer it is harder to see, because the whole village is busy with the visitors.

The second reason is that you are alone. In July, Viscri is where you queue to climb the tower. In October you climb it and stay as long as you like.

Who holds the key

Fortified churches are not museums with a ticket desk and hours on the door. Most have one person in the village who keeps the key, and that person decides when it opens: a family that took on the church after the Saxons left, or someone appointed by the Lutheran parish or a foundation. In summer they are often at the gate, because people come. In autumn they are in the field, with the animals or at the still, and the church looks closed. It is not. It is just not open yet.

That is where our rule comes from: we go with the people who hold the keys, not around them. Not because you could not otherwise get in, but because the person who opens the door is the one who knows what is inside. They show you the marks on the beams, tell you whose the front pew was and why a name is written on it, and open the door the guide with the leaflet does not know about. On your own, you ask at the first house by the church and usually someone knows who has the key. But it is a walk, it takes time, and in October the keyholder may not be home.

What you see inside

A fortified church is not a castle; it is what a village of farmers built when it could not afford a nobleman, and that shows in every detail. The wall is thick enough and high enough to hold the whole village and its cattle until the danger passed. Along the inside are the little rooms, one per family, with the stores for a siege.

The bacon tower is the part that stays with people. In one of the towers, each household hung its bacon, marked as its own, cool and out of reach. On Sunday after the service, each family climbed up and cut what it needed for the week, in full view of the neighbours, and nobody cut from anyone else's. In a few villages the hooks are still there. It is not an exhibit; it is a shared larder that worked for centuries, and that way of running a village says more about the Saxons than any chronicle does.

Then there is the church itself: small, often with a painted board ceiling, the men's pews and the women's pews, every family's place fixed, and an organ that sometimes still plays. In autumn it is colder inside than out. Remember that when you dress.

Not only Viscri

Viscri is the village with the reputation, it is on the UNESCO list and it deserves to be. But on either side are villages just as intact where nobody goes: Criț, with its big church on the hill; Meșendorf, at the end of a dirt road; Cloașterf, with its enclosure almost untouched; Saschiz, on the main road and on the UNESCO list too, with the tower you see from miles away. We take two or three in a day, and it is rarely Viscri that stays longest in the mind. If you have a day to spare, Sighișoara is an hour from here, and in autumn the citadel belongs to the people who live in it rather than to the groups.

When to arrive

The commonest autumn mistake is to set off after lunch. The churches have no electric light, or one that does not help. By four in the afternoon in October the painted ceiling is already in shadow and the rooms in the wall cannot be seen at all. Come in the morning, with the fog still in the valley, because it lifts by the time you reach the second church, and keep the afternoon for lunch and the village.

Sunday has a different rule. Where a congregation remains, the service comes before the visit, and so it should. You can go in afterwards, and it is often better, because people are gathered and someone certainly has the key.

And in the evening, if you have stayed long enough, you see the cows come home. It is not at a fixed time, it is at the light, so in October it is early, earlier than you expect.

How to behave in the village

These villages are homes, not scenery. The yards are somebody's, the dogs are somebody's, and the people you photograph from the car are people at work. Ask before you photograph a farmyard, and if the answer is no, you have received an answer, not an invitation to insist. Do not walk into open yards, even with the gate wide open, because the gate is open for the animals, not for you. And if you are offered a glass, it is the brandy from that week's still. You drink half, you say it is good, and you do not ask for another if you are driving.

Lunch, with us, is at a farm: what is being cooked that day, at the family's table. In autumn that usually means soup, something with cabbage, bread from the oven and the vegetable spread from jars put up a week earlier. It is not a restaurant, so there is no menu, and we do not ask for one.

What to bring

Closed shoes with a proper sole. The side roads to the smaller villages are unpaved and after an October rain they are mud to the ankle, and the tower stairs are old, steep timber. A spare layer, for the church interior, which holds the autumn cold better than any fridge. Small cash, because the entrance is often paid to the person who opens the door, on the spot, and there is no card machine. And some time with no plan, because the best thing in a day among the Saxon villages is usually the one you did not schedule: a woman knitting on a bench with socks to sell, a still boiling in a yard, a conversation that runs long.

On our day in the Saxon villages the key is arranged in advance, lunch is at the farm and the road between villages is ours, so all you have to do is look. But the habits above are worth having either way, whether you come with us or set off alone on the roads between Viscri and its neighbours.

Quick checklist for the Saxon villages in autumn

• Leave in the morning: the churches have no light, and after four the interior is in shadow
• The key is with someone in the village, not on the door; ask at the first house, or come with someone who already has it
• Not only Viscri: Criț, Meșendorf, Cloașterf or Saschiz are just as intact, and empty
• Closed shoes, a spare layer for the interior, small cash for the entrance
• The yards and the dogs are somebody's: ask before you photograph, do not walk through open gates
• Stay until evening if you can: the cows come home on their own, by the light, not by the clock