The gathering built slowly. At my home, I was joined by Jenny Coxon, English fellow traveller, and the adventure began. At Heathrow, we met our first new friend Dale Jacobsen, and then older friend Gillian Alcock, both from Australia. Dale was an internet contact, instantly it felt like we had known her for years. Then in Munich, we met the 7 strong German party. Belisa, another first-met internet contact, invoked much the same response as Dale. We were all soon laughing and joking.

We arrived, with dulcimers all intact, in Minsk. Passing through the rather alien and officious customs, we were grateful to be welcomed by Lena, who spoke clear English and who shepherded us into the waiting coach. She passed out a copy of the draft programme - where we discoved that every country had been allocated a concert (even though we had not specifically offered it....). And ours was the very next day! Jenny's matter of fact confidence was just the thing I needed at that point. And it gave us something to think about, once we had settled down to the three hour drive to Mogilev.

We drove through endless forested plains. Densely packed spindly silver birch and conifers competed for light for endless miles, broken up occasionally by sections of boggy heathland and the odd hamlet. The roadside was punctuated by occasional bus shelters, a few broken down cars (with owner hard at work under the bonnet),. and a few people, some encamped by fires. These woods, we learned later, harboured elk, wild boar, and wolves. The scene was like the opening to a cult movie, we only needed the music for it to begin...

Eventually, in Mogilev, we reached cold and wet reality. Arriving at about 7.30 pm, the opening concert was due to start soon. Jenny and I decided food could come later. Accompanied by our new found friend and interpreter Galina, we found our seats in the overflowing concert hall. The music was all I had wanted, and more. Starting with a traditional player and his family, we heard all manner of delights from players aged 8 to 80. Every player clearly had the love of music in their hearts. Many of the players were dressed in traditional costume, the whole thing had a sense of theatre - even the opening speeches were poetic! And supper conveniently turned up at the reception after the concert. Here we learnt the most important Russian custom - to toast everything in sight! If I know only one thing in about six languages now, it is the equivalent of "Cheers!".

The next day we prepared for our concert, while fitting in more speeches, more toasts (sparkling wine - what a way to start the day!), and an excellent tape and slide presentation on the dulcimer traditions of the US.A. by Paul Gifford. Eastern Europeans were amazed and excited to hear music from their cultures being played by immigrants recorded on early American '78s. At our concert, Jenny wowed the crowd with some Lancashire clog dancing, and our music seemed to be well received. At the end we were surrounded by young Belarussians asking us to sign their programmes. This turned out to be the latest craze, each was collecting a set of personalised momentoes of the event. But it was infectious, this bubbling enthusiasm and excitement from the young Belarussians, it gave an irresistable feeling that everyone present was contributing and receiving as fully as each other in this generous musical exchange.

Concert after concert brought more delights. From the Czech Republic, from China, from Moldavia and from Belarus there were young students, the youngest a delightful Chinese player aged only five. Yet in each young face was the concentration and the musical passion of a wiser, maturer musical talent. The future of the dulcimer is safe in these youngster's hands.

The Swiss took up the dancing idea, as did the Germans and Belarussians, which again delighted the audience. And some international co-operation took place, for example with Paul Gifford (USA) and Kalman Balogh (Hungary) supporting Michael Mantz (Holland) in an illustration of the Rumania Hora. And I took up Frederic Zweig's offer to accompany my singing. I chose "Remember, Mother Earth" in light of the proximity of the lands affected by the Chernobyl disaster. I felt the audience with me, and Frederic's avant-garde, semi-improvised approach fitted the song perfectly. I got hugs from complete strangers for that one.

The sightseeing tour was accompanied by the worst weather that Belarus had to offer, driving windy rain obscuring our view from the coach window. We saw two churches, full of Sunday worshippers, the Catholic and the Orthodox. I remember the singing, and the contrast from the totally decorated walls of the Catholic church to the stark white empty Orthodox ones. Here died 200 souls imprisoned by the State in the 30s. It is an unhappy place. And the museum, with its freedom statue flying in the wind, finished its story with poignant exhibits chronicling war-time heroism and atrocity, in particular during the last war.

The interpreter felt it necessary to make a conciliatory remark to our German colleagues, but there was no feeling of emnity, or of nationalism, or even awkwardness - only sorrow - to all of us the world had moved on; we were truly an international family. So it was in the finale of the closing concert, we all crowded together on the stage, sharing instruments, to play one of the traditional Belorussion folk tunes with which the event began. The audience were delighted; so were we.

All too swiftly, it comes to an end. We say our goodbyes, the gathering bit by bit unfolds until we are in England again, just Jenny and I, with our memories and our plans for the future. The Congress has changed us, made the world a smaller, friendlier place. We will meet again, in a different country. Next time it is China in 1999, and then to Great Britain in 2001, a chance to make our own imprint and give another set of memories, differing again. We hope that you, too, will be moved to join us and to share your music with us.

Cheers! Egeszsegedre, Prost, Vasheh Zdarovyeh, Campei, Sante. See you soon!