Off the Beaten Track in the FCI: A Dog Show Travel Journal from the Balkans

Off the Beaten Track in the FCI: A Dog Show Travel Journal from the Balkans

In 2025 I was invited to judge terriers in Serbia, which was my first time in the Balkans. Milan Milanovic organized the event with care and dedication. Everything went like clockwork with great stewards and the hospitality showed generosity and a sense of tradition, which is always welcome. I reflected on my way home that this corner of the FCI is very different from other FCI countries and one that I know very little about. Though the Balkans are well connected to Europe through Germany and Austria, Italy is across the Adriatic waters and driving to a show is well over 18 hours—quite long for European standards. I decided to give it a try.

In December there were two winner events, the Valdanos Cup of Montenegro and the Macedonian Winter Winner, offering their national championship title in cluster shows. I contacted Ivana Bulatovic, a professional handler from Montenegro who has also had some experience with terriers. I decided to shorten the fatigue of the journey a bit by taking the ferry from Ancona, Italy, to Durres, Albania, driving up to Montenegro to meet Ivana, then continuing with my handler down to Macedonia. The ship was clean and modern. I had brought homemade snacks, so I spent the time in my cabin with my dog, studying for my upcoming exams to judge new breeds.

Arrival in Albania went well, but it was a strange country to drive through. There was an extraordinary number of gas stations, one after the other for many miles, interspersed with car wash services and little else. The land soon became completely rural—completely. Just a house in the far distance could be seen on rare occasion, giving the landscape a very natural beauty; but being all on my own, I also prayed there would be no unexpected car trouble. The mountains that studded the horizon looked blue and then golden as the winter morning matured, and the sweetly undulating, uncultivated plain made the land feel untouched by the modern world. The only sign of activity was the occasional pile of slatted wooden crates with cabbages perched on top for sale by an elderly housewife or man standing placidly behind the goods.

At one point, I spied the sign of an Italian espresso chain, so I pulled over. The cavernous room held one man in a suit standing at the cash register talking to the barmaid, and another woman mopping the floor in a slow constant way that was a bit surreal. The man elegantly asked me in English what could be done for me; I said I had stopped in for an espresso. This seemed like an exceptionally gallant welcome for a coffee shop, but I stood at the counter, drank my coffee, paid, and passed the slow mop on my way out. Very Tarantino.

The purple-painted border to Montenegro wasn’t busy at this time of year; there were only two cars ahead of me, so everything went quickly. The landscape rapidly changed and I passed through several small villages with people going about their business. This was more what I had expected. The show was held in the pretty little town of Ulcinj, which had a shopping center, and several restaurants and other businesses from a bygone era such as a shoeshine bench, seamstress, and one shop with the walls covered in cell phone covers of nearly every model ever made. Ivana had booked me into a beautiful hotel and I was the only guest. The owner prepared breakfast for me himself, an excellent omelette with all the trimmings. The show was only eight minutes away, behind a fully booked villa where the judges and exhibitors were staying. The club had set up an ample white tent on the patio, which was fortunate because it began to rain. Judging was rapid and they were able to get two shows done, with a civilized hour and a half break for a three-course lunch. The President of the Montenegro Club, Miodrag Vretenicic, stopped by our setup to welcome me and complimented my dog for her beauty and good health. I felt honored, and Ivana assured me that he was a very active president at all shows under his responsibility.

The event had a friendly, informal atmosphere; it was clear that everyone knew each other, though I was one of many foreigners attending. In fact, I had tough competition in my rare breed since two gentlemen had come from Germany with their handsome Irish Terriers. They kindly invited me to their camper for tea and cake, which was delightful! After the second day, with the Montenegro Champion papers carefully packed, we set off for Prilep, Macedonia. This was a seven-hour drive, which I never would have undertaken on my own setting, out at six in the evening, but I was with my handler and her capable partner, Milorad Grujicic, so off we went. We traversed Albania again and arrived at the border of Macedonia around midnight. My handler had been driving with me, and the time had flown by as we chatted about the dog world in the Balkans, but she then went through the border in her own car. This turned out to be awkward since I was stopped and could not proceed as I did not possess proper car insurance to drive in Macedonia. Finally, Ivana convinced the guard to let her back in the border station on foot and she was able to hold a conversation in the native language and make some calls. The official who signs this special insurance drove 30km to arrive at the station, and I was able to purchase the insurance with only a slight increase of the regular price.

Apparently, most countries in the area have this requirement, and each year residents pay an extra fee to have international coverage in neighboring countries. Boy, was I glad to be with Ivana. We arrived at the apartment they had booked and were busy the following morning prepping for the show, which started at midday. Ivana was finishing some of her dogs, blow drying the Poodle, but I could only get cold water. They then explained that the water heater needed to be activated and it took over 40 minutes to have hot water, so my shower had to wait for our return.

The venue was an indoor sports arena in poor repair. The rings were large and the stewards were already at work using a clever cubbyhole structure to keep their prize cards and papers sorted. Again, the judging was swift, with Best in Show starting right on the heels of the final Breed results. In this way, they easily accomplished two shows each day. There were no shopping stalls, no crowding at the bathroom sinks full of young ladies applying makeup or changing into new dress suits, no display of Agility or Obedience, not even a comfortable hospitality area for the judges. Everyone was focused on their dogs and helping each other with everything from switches of judging order to sharing prep materials. I might compare the event to an extended family outing; there was complete cooperation, between exhibitors and within the club, and paperwork for titles all got stamped and processed immediately by an efficient team at a desk in the corner. Perhaps it was better than a family, since there was no friction, no tension whatsoever—a textbook example of good sportsmanship.

The dog world in the Balkans is constrained by a society that does not have any space for purebred dogs. The population is profoundly rural, perhaps comparable to the US in the 1950s. People keep one large rustic sheepdog if they possess some livestock, but in town, no one at all has a dog on a lead. There are strays, in various states of health, to be found at almost every corner but no pets. The social-economic profile is unlike that of most places I have visited in Europe.

Local communities function well enough, but the services and infrastructure are not at a level that visitors would find optimal. Trash collection, especially the sort of things like heaps of discarded building materials, as well as road repair and the maintenance of public spaces, is sketchy. Supermarkets are very small, and deal primarily in bulk goods like 15 kilo bags of flour; there is no ready-made meal section and very limited fresh fruit and vegetables available except for the ubiquitous elderly with crates of cabbages standing on the streets about town. The atmosphere, however, is not of resignation; the people are hardy and self-sufficient. There is a decided approach of “just getting on with it” that also appears at the dog shows. There is a strong vein of solidarity in the dog world here, where there is no glamour, no resources—only determination to enjoy this passion for purebred dogs.

Breeders are few and far between, and they have very little opportunity to sell their puppies unless abroad. Handlers could not survive without some foreign clients, and the shows themselves, which usually count about 100 entries, would be half that without foreign visitors. This reality varies from place to place; for example, Serbia is much more developed, and Albania has almost no dog community. Those countries in the Balkans that do dedicate their energy and resources to promote and sustain a club are motivated primarily by a great love of dogs.

As the ferry pulled out of the port of Durres, I reflected on my experience so far—the dog world in the Balkans may not live up to one’s expectations in some ways, but in others it may surpass them.