We had a much better time on the second day - I attended the Bulgarian dance workshop headed by the Valeri Dimchev Quartet, which turned out to be a very vigorous workout and had us drenched in sweat within minutes. My next stop was a session called 'Squeeze Box', featuring instruments with bellows - accordions, melodeons, harmoniums and bagpipes. This workshop was led by accordion-playing Tristan Glover of UK's Chipolatas. We got to sit down there and watch the musicians talk about their instruments and play some pieces for us. The third workshop had a huge turnout because everyone knows Latin American music is the bomb. The Habana Son Club stressed that American salsa and Cuban salsa are different. "But we're ok with it." their leader quipped.

The third day was filled with percussions and more dancing taught by assorted members from various groups. The group 'Africa in Motion' consisted of (surprisingly) African-Americans, and not African-Africans as most of us expected. One of the more prolific groups, Tarika, also did a dance workshop, one that gave the Bulgarians a run for their money.

We were fortunate enough to stay at the same hotel as the musicians, so we bump into some of them at breakfast or around the resort grounds. Most of them are quite friendly and will engage in banter with you over sausages and toast. It's pretty amazing considering that in some cases, we only speak a smattering of each other's language.

The Cubans were quite a bunch of charmers, by the way.

I think the most important thing to note when attending the concerts at night is that you'll be sitting on the grass, under the open sky and in the company of whatever nature puts between the two. Expect to get hot, sweaty, wet and bitten. Toasty tropical nights aren't too bad, but rain will turn the fields muddy. Add mosquitoes into the mix and you'll get something you don't want to experience in your best clubbing outfit and stiletto heels. Don't ask me why some people showed up in those.

As for the concerts, you had to be there yourself. We sat on the grass with thousands of other people in front of the stage, waiting for the show to begin. When it did, we didn't remain seated for long. The music and the language it was in didn't matter. The musicians were veteran showmen but more than one group remarked that the crowd was amazingly responsive. The rainforest and the full moon slowly making its way across the skies made it the perfect backdrop for dancing to pipes and tablas and accordians. A couple of flying squirrels stole the show by gliding repeatedly over the heads of the excited crowd. Trying to escape the noise? "Trying to get a better view." my friend said.

In the hype of newer, more radical music that flood the contemporary charts these days, it's no surprise that traditional music and dance from all over the world is slowly fading away. It makes me sad when a traditional music group consists mainly of people over 50; it's a sign that there are no new keepers of the culture's artistic heritage. I spoke to a journalist from New York, who squeezed the festival into her packed schedule because she was enchanted by the haunting voice of the Sarawakian sape and wanted to hear more. I can't tell one sape song from another, but I was quite pleased that a visitor enjoyed that aspect of my culture.

We're already planning our trip next year. Look me up if you're in the area. I'll be in the middle of the field, dancing until the moon crosses the sky.

More photographs:

• Andy MH Kho
• Official site