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The Dracula Golden Trophy Dog Show – 10th Edition
by Lisa Croft-Elliott
In a person’s lifetime they see many things and go many places that effect them in unexpected ways; my recent journey to Romania was one that shook my core and beliefs in ways I never anticipated.
I was honored to be invited to cover the 10th Dracula Golden Trophy Show by Targu Mures Kennel club president Lokodi Csaba Zsolt, and my dear friend Petru Muntean. I had wanted to attend this show since its inception and finally it came to fruition. Each year they invite a wonderfully diverse and brilliant group of judges who worked tirelessly to get through their assignments as efficiently as possible in order to move on to the next show. The weekend is two days with three shows each day, two national and one international each day; the highlight is the Dracula Golden Trophy International Show held on Saturday night (yes, the trophy really is gold).
Opting to leave the dogs behind and just go armed with a camera, I set off from Luton airport, not knowing what I was heading into. Friends were quick with the jokes about taking rosaries, garlic, and wooden stakes; but I was not deterred from this adventure. As the plane taxied in along the wet pavement at nearly midnight, the first thing I noticed was the glowing yellow sign “Transylvania Airport”. Oh my god, is this where I am… never in my life did I think this was a possibility, let alone a reality!
I dutifully collected my bags and headed for my hotel where I was greeted by a small, slightly grumpy looking elderly gentleman at the reception desk who handed me a badly written list of names, indicating that I needed to point out my name. He was as fluent in English as I am in Romanian. I was then handed my keys and pointed in the general direction of the other building. It was only then that I discovered I was on the fourth floor with no elevator or help. It was yet again one of those moments when I wished I was a writer and not a photographer hauling nearly 75 pounds of equipment with me; and I was loathing my decision to pack extra suits that probably would not ever be worn. Steps are still not my strong point when it comes to walking but I trudged up to the heavens with one bag and then returned for the second, and then the final lap for my carry-on and laptop. Thoroughly depleted, I decided it was time to hunker down and get a bit of work done – all in all a good plan unless one is on a floor too high up to get WiFi, so back down I went AGAIN.
As I stood out in the rain trying to find the WiFi signal, I was shadowed by my little man who I dubbed ‘Smiley’. He seemed rather curious as to why I was standing in the rain but even my translator failed to get the point across that I was living in The Land of No Signal. Once successful, I then managed to catch up with my night owl friend Petru who deemed it necessary to be sure I was well-fed, even though it was now one o’clock in the morning. Off we set for a 24-hour restaurant in the city of Târgu Mure? and we were met with great success. The taxi driver took us to a delightful little place that was obviously a local haunt and I enjoyed a combination of history lesson, dog show scene catch-up, and one of the best soups I have ever had, followed up by homemade whisky ice cream.
Târgu Mure?, with its nearly equal Hungarian and Romanian populations, as well as a sizeable Roma population, offers a different slice of Transylvania – past and present. Buildings in its center sport a more colorful, even flamboyant, Habsburg spirit, with tiled rooftops of government buildings jutting over heroic statues and floral paint jobs. The city was first documented as ‘Novum Forum Sicolorum’ in 1322. It developed as a leading garrison town and later as an important cultural and academic center. In 1658 it was attacked by Turks, who captured 3000 inhabitants and transported them back to Istanbul as slave labor. During the Ceau?escu regime, Târgu Mure? was a ‘closed city’, with all ethnic groups other than Romanians forbidden to settle here, in an effort to dilute the Hungarian community. In 1990 Târgu Mure? was the scene of bloody clashes between Hungarian students, demonstrating for a Hungarian-language faculty in their university, and Romanians who raided the local Hungarian political party offices. According to the Human Rights Watch World Report for 1990, the violence was stirred up by rumors that armed Romanian peasants were being bussed in from outlying villages to fortify Romanian protesters. Even in the early hours this city is alive with activity I am unaccustomed to seeing in my late night ramblings in European cities.
Back at the hotel I once again scaled the four-story Everest and pondered the faces of those that I had seen in the restaurant, faces that told a thousand stories; a look I would become quickly familiar with and quite intrigued by over the next few days.
Morning brought about the best news possible – I was being relocated to a ground floor room that not only provided relief for my already worn out legs, but also gave me back the possibility of communication with the rest of the planet. A few of the judges were out sightseeing, while the rest of the panel was rolling in. For me it seemed to be a day of working, chatting with other dog people from across the planet and eating, with heavy emphasis on the eating, throughout the day.
As evening approached, so did the promise of yet more food and fabulous company as more judges arrived. We were all presented menus that were a combination of Romanian, Hungarian and English. It contained such delicacies as Tripe Soup, Toast with Pig grease, and Interweaving Pork Muscle. We prevailed upon Petru to get us through this maze of terrifying offerings without too-extreme culinary experimentation. I can wholeheartedly state that I had some of the finest pork, veal dishes and best chicken noodle soup I have ever had the pleasure to eat. Whatever I ate over the weekend was fresh, tender and a riot of generations of spices and cultures that came together with supreme grace. The desserts were light but sinful and demanded only a clean plate be left behind.
Saturday was the beginning of the half-marathon with an entry of just over 650 dogs for each of the three shows held that day. The panel of 18 judges gathered on a stage at the top of the show ground and were offered fruits, cookies and beverages while being briefed as to the proceedings ahead of them. The diversity of the panel allowed for a diverse range of opinions. One-third of the panel were from Romania, the others from Malaysia, Slovakia, Denmark, the Netherlands and beyond. The first two shows of the day were national shows offering CACs in each class toward the Romanian Champion title. As each judge would conclude his or her assignment, the respective groups would be held in that ring (best in show for each would be held in the main ring.) The timings and ring schedules seemed to time out just perfectly so the judges would all then have a lunch break before beginning their second show, and there was also a break before the third and final show of the day. The third show was the Dracula Golden Trophy International show. This included the offering of the national CAC and the FCI CACIB. All Group and Best judging for the International show would be conducted in the main arena.
In reference to the main arena, I guess I have to say I use that term perhaps a bit generously. It was a large, three-sided shed that had a ring of more than ample size for the groups and set forth with tiered seating, straw bales and the odd chairs for observers, then a row of tables and chairs for judges and VIPs. The main ring was equipped with music and interestingly-placed lighting that served to blind some, illuminate others, and make for some creative backlights.
As I wandered about the show ground it was refreshing to see exhibitors truly interested in what the judges had to say, taking constructive criticism to heart and not having a tantrum if their dog was not rated excellent. Despite the fact there were professional handlers, and it is a major show for this country, there was no excessive glitz and glamor around the grounds. It was a good, honest dog show set in a municipal park. Rings were spread out with the small breeds and terriers being shown indoors and the rest outside marked by red and white tape hung from posts. Stewards worked tirelessly to keep the flow going and their judges progressing at a pace that would allow for three sets of breed judging as well as two sets of groups to be processed before the start of the main ring activities. Some exhibitors brought tents to groom in while others shunned grooming in favor of sitting under the trees with their dogs and picnics; still others worked from the building and shuffled back and forth from the outdoor rings to the refuge of the building.
As people began to congregate in the main ring area there was a buzz that was present that is often lacking in so many shows these days: the genuine interest of the observers to watch judging and cheer for dogs with which they have no association. By their expressions, it was simple to see that many had no clue what was going on, but they were fixated and enthusiastic nonetheless. The judges did not disappoint their audience with their efficient manner of judging and choices of winners along with their obvious independence from one another as no particular dog won every show.
The first day’s shows are two national shows that are followed by the coveted Dracula Golden Trophy CACIB show. The evening’s program was one that was based on the musical ‘Cabaret’; yes, THAT Cabaret complete with smoke machines, costumed dancers and fake dollars being flung with reckless abandon. When the program began, we were teased by the presence of a blonde madam watching from the sidelines who was later escorted to the center of the ring and disrobed to reveal the Best In Show judge, Petru Muntean. I will freely admit to thinking this was akin to an out-of-body experience as I watched scantily clad women parading about to announce the next group to enter the ring while we all tried to see through the outpouring of the over-zealous smoke machine, and we all struggled to see the dogs.
The Golden Trophy is called that for a reason: it is gold-plated. It was gifted to the club by the most gracious Yorkshire terrier breeder, Nanta Tansacha, and is offered to the dog that wins the show three times, a feat not yet accomplished. The other trophies for that show are stunning handmade Romanian ceramic jugs and vases varying in size from dainty to massive. This was the tenth edition of this show; in previous years it has been held in the citadel which is sadly in the midst of renovations. The dog that was to take home the revered title of Best in Show this year was the impeccably presented Multi CH Agria Icebreaker; BIS2 went to the impressive young Black Russian, Atlantic Europica Varietas, with BIS3 going to the lovely Old English Sheepdog, Bottom Shaker Zepher Dream. All of these dogs featured in various placements throughout the 6 shows.
My real thrill came from being able to watch a good depth of entry in the newly FCI-recognised Romanian breeds. The Carpathian Shepherd, Romanian Mioritic Shepherd, and the Romanian Raven Shepherd are breeds that are individually stunning in their own right. They are all capable guardians and protectors and they are massive. Each are noted for being more than able to protect their flocks and owners from thieves as well as wolves and bear. Sadly missing was the Bucovina Shepherd, who at this time is only provisionally recognized. It is theorized (although not proven) that the various Carpathian Shepherd Dog breeds, as with other livestock guardian and Mountain dog breeds, are descended from dogs that were developed somewhere around 9,000 years ago in Mesopotamia following the domestication of sheep and goats in the same area.
Following the awarding of BIS we all trailed back to the hotel to feed and crash, as one might expect following such a marathon. I was, as many are accustomed to seeing me, glued to the iPad wildly sorting through the days images and have no clear recollection of what food was present but a very clear memory that it was once again fresh and fabulous. Images sorted and published, it was time to retire and ready myself for the repeat of the marathon facing me the next day.
The show on the second day was much calmer in many ways, as everyone had found their rhythm and knew their tasks at hand. I had elected to walk the few blocks to the show and it gave me a clearer picture of the local population as I took my time and studied the individuals that crossed my path and began to get an insight to who it was that lived here. The public were in full force visiting the show and I was intrigued by the expressiveness in everyone I encountered. To a person, the people from Transylvania I have met have been kind, caring and possess an empathic aura that is not often found in casual acquaintances in Western Europe, but there is always an unspoken undertone of heavy burden.
Looking at the history of this section of central Romania it is really not surprising that this was my impression as this area west of the Carpathians had faced repeated invasion and continued battering over the centuries starting with the Romans in 106 AD and continuing until after World War I when the Romanians of Transylvania proclaimed at a convention at Alba Iulia (1918) their union with Romania. Transylvania was then seized by Romania and was formally ceded by Hungary in the Treaty of Trianon (1920). The expropriation of the estates of Magyar magnates, the distribution of the lands to the Romanian peasants, and the policy of cultural Romanianization that followed were major causes of friction between Hungary and Romania. During World War II, Hungary annexed (1940) N Transylvania, which was, however, returned to Romania after the war. Many of the Saxons of Transylvania fled to Germany before the arrival of the Soviet army, and most of the remaining Saxons followed after the fall of the Communist government in 1989. A 2006 presidential commission report estimated that under Communist rule (1945–89) as many as 2 million people were killed or persecuted in Romania. The history of this region is reflected in the eyes of its denizens with a stoicism that shows why they have survived.
The weather was glorious, sun streaming across the park and temperatures mild enough that even the massive dogs were not uncomfortable. People spread about the park enjoying the weather, the company and their dogs. The judging moved swiftly, with the gathering about the now slightly less glamorous main ring happening as smoothly as if everyone had done it for several days. Gone now were the bright lights and smoke machine, thankfully, and it was all about the dogs and judging, with the late afternoon sun providing the primary illumination.
Unlike the night before, we were actually done just as the sun was setting and we made our way back to the hotel to get ready for the Dracula Party. As I was staying with the judges, we all walked together to the jazz club where the party was held. It was great hearing so many positive comments from the judges about the quality of the exhibits and the good manners of the exhibitors, as we strolled through the streets of once-beautiful buildings that were yielding to the ravages of time and poor economic circumstances.
The night was another indication that other shows could do well to take a page from this club’s book. The gathering of judges, breeders, owners and handlers sharing each others’ company over a great buffet, bountiful bar and super dance music, culminating with some karaoke was inspiring. It was just fun and a great way for everybody to blow off steam following the hard chore of surviving 6 shows in 2 days. Hats off to the organizers and attendees for hosting a fabulous event.
Flying to less-than-mainstream airports has its price. My flight home was not until Tuesday so I was in the rather fortunate position of being a tourist for a day-and-a-half. I was provided with a most learned tour guide during this free time. Judges Rony Doedijns and Svend Lovenkjaer were flying out of Sibiu, a two-hour drive south of where we were in Târgu Mures. So I trailed off to see Sibiu with them and to wave them goodbye. The roads in Romania are infamous for being the most dangerous in the entire European Union, but if no risk taken, no reward was given!
I was not fully prepared for what I would see on this journey. There were breathtaking landscapes, awe-inspiring castle ruins, and flocks of livestock all accompanied by at least one tender. And then the other side of the coin: abject poverty, gypsies selling anything and everything on the roadside, people with weather-beaten faces, with strings of onions for sale, houses being held together by the grace of god, worn-out horses pulling even more worn-out carts. It was on this trip I learned about the centuries of attacks and homologization of the Germans, Hungarians and Romanians. Still the look in the eye of the people remained the same as those I encountered in Târgu. Everywhere I looked I saw a palpable sense of repeated torture with a cautious overtone of desperate hope.
Sibiu was founded in 1191 as a German settlement within Transylvania. It has remained as an important trade center and is also now known as one of the most important cultural centers of Romania. Two hours of driving south and I was still met by the same people, somehow weary but going on with that look of tentative optimism. Being a UNESCO world heritage site has meant that it has been afforded support to have an ancient center that is stunning and well-manicured. Much of the city has been reconstructed due to it being the European Capital of Culture in 2007 and it has benefited greatly from the funds made available. On approach from the main roads the view of the abundant spires and towers flanked by foreboding mountains beckon the most hardened traveler. The main square with its below-ground fountains is surrounded by high end shops and well-stocked art galleries, and signs announcing tours and concerts; all what one might expect from a glossy attraction. The series of squares hold a charm and inspiration that easily earned it Forbes magazine’s ranking of 8th place on the list of “the most idyllic places to visit.” Wander just beyond the center and the heartache is unveiled by stunning buildings crumbling, people sleeping in the park, and faded signs from failed business still hanging in hope their owner might return. It was in Sibiu where the first hospital, the first library, the first school, the first pharmacy, the first paper mill, the first book store, the first theater building, the first museum, the first cast iron bridge, the first mental illness hospital, the first whole Romanian capital bank, the first spring factory, the first beer factory, the first balance factory, the first tool factory, the first hydropower plant, the first Zoo garden, and the first open-air cinema in Romania opened. From the council tower, built in 1324, to the 12th century Evangelic Church; from The Radu Stanca National Theater, to the Lier’s bridge (legend says that the bridge will collapse if someone will sit on it and tell a lie.) This city should be a must-do on anybody’s bucket list.
We then began the journey back north back past the crumbling villages while passing many road-weary horses and carts. By this time of the year the sunflowers had given in to the start of autumn and were hanging as heavy as the people that were stuck in a previous era. Shepherds were diligently moving their charges, with cattle being lead-walked through the streets to their evening resting place. The images I saw could have easily been in any historic document.
Sighi?oara is another astounding example of early Saxon planning and execution. During the 12th century, German craftsmen and merchants known as the Transylvanian Saxons were invited to Transylvania by the King of Hungary to settle and defend the frontier of his realm. The houses inside Sighi?oara Citadel show the main features of a craftsmen’s town. However, there are some houses that belonged to the former patriciate, like the Venetian House and the House with Antlers. The Church on the hill was the first sign from miles away that we were approaching someplace that would be very different. After parking in a small lot at the base of the town, we began our ascent past the brightly-colored and yet still crumbly buildings that worked hard to hide their age. Then I saw it, the clock tower: built in the second half of the 14th century and expanded in the 16th century. The four small corner turrets on top of the tower symbolized the judicial autonomy of the Town Council, which could apply, if necessary, the death penalty. After a fire in 1676 when the town’s gunpowder deposits located in the Tailors’ Tower exploded, Austrian artists rebuilt the roof of the tower in its present baroque style, and in 1894 colorful tiles were added. The figurines, moved by the clock’s mechanism, each represent a different character. On the citadel side, Peace is holding an olive branch, accompanied by a drummer beating the hours on his bronze drum; above them are Justice, with a set of scales, and Law, wielding a sword, accompanied by two angels representing Day and Night. At 6 am, the angel symbolizing the day appears, marking the beginning of the working day and at 6 pm, the angel symbolizing the night comes out carrying two burning candles, marking the end of the working day. The dial overlooking the Lower City features a set of seven figurines, each representing the pagan gods who personified the days of the week: Diane (Monday), Mars (Tuesday), Mercury (Wednesday), Jupiter (Thursday), Venus (Friday), Saturn (Saturday) and the Sun (Sunday). The spire of the tower ends in a small golden sphere. At the top, there is a meteorological cock, which, turned around by air currents, forecasts the weather. There is a cobblestone walkway leading up and through. Once inside, the walls of this perfectly intact 16th century gem with nine towers, cobbled streets, burgher houses and ornate churches rivals the historic streets of Old Prague or Vienna for atmospheric magic.
Sighi?oara is noted as the birthplace of Vlad Dracula, also known as Vlad Tepes (Vlad the Impaler.) It was he who inspired Bram Stoker’s fictional creation, Count Dracula. Dracula souvenirs are everywhere but it was the need to scale the Scholars’ Stairs to see the Church on the hill that was calling me more. Built in 1642, the covered stair-passage was meant to facilitate and protect schoolchildren and churchgoers on their climb to the school and church during wintertime. Originally, the stairs had 300 steps, but after 1849, their number was reduced to 175; but the hill is just as high! Sadly by the time I got there the church was closed, so I missed the opportunity to see the 15th century murals. I fell in love with a small tower up on the highest point, an ancient stone home overlooking the lush cemetery with further views across the valley. Our descent took us by some of the remaining 9 towers (Ropemaker’s, Tailor’s, Cobbler’s and Goldsmith’s Towers). Buildings there are clear evidence that artisans were aplenty with their vibrant colors and subtle design features that seem lacking in many other Saxon towns we passed through. The last sight I saw as we were leaving the city was of a tombstone with skull and crossed bones on it, a sign that the plague had reaped its wrath on this little gem.
Back across the hills to Târgu Mure? and I was completely drained, yet completely saturated with visuals and overcome by the raw emotions of the towns and their inhabitants. I worked that night and readied myself for a quick tour of Târgu Mure? in the morning.
I was met by Aletta Lokodi, the daughter of Zsolt Lokodi. She and her friend were happy to lead me blissfully through the streets and marveled as I kept snapping photos of tiny details of the crumbly, stunning architecture. I am sure I was a source of amusement for them. Our first stop was the Cultural palace that housed a tastefully appointed concert hall, the gallery of notable Romanian artists and the same housing Hungarian artists’ work. The hall of Mirrors was the show-stopper here: a wall of stained glass windows that each told a chapter from a Romanian fairytale. I was hooked and enchanted. We went out to see the building adjacent which is the former City Hall building. Together they make a spectacular secessionist ensemble built at the beginning of the 20th century. It was the first building out of a series meant to change the appearance of the new city center. The main building was erected between 1907 and 1908. The palace is remarkable for its 192-foot-high spire, built originally as a watchtower of the town, placed asymmetrically and covered – like the rest of the building – with colorful Majolica. This material is present in the external flower decorations, too.
Then it was time to go back, grab a bite to eat, and head for the airport. By this time I was reeling from so much input and so much emotion. This trip became one of my journeys that I am looking forward to repeating and and I look forward to seeing even more. That being said, being a tourist is much like holding dog shows: it is very easy to try to get too much in one day and miss the finer, most critical details.
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Posted by ralbee
on Jan 4 2016. Filed under Current Articles, Editorial, Featured.
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