It was 5:10am and my sleepy fingers were having trouble with the bodice laces. Finally they were slung, crisscrossed among the hooks, and I had only the apron left to don. In the dark, one of my roommates stirred. I lifted the beautiful silken apron that Andrea had lent me and wrapped the straps around my waist over the dress that I had also borrowed. Bringing the ends together, I tied a big bow – and this was important – on the left side. It meant I was unmarried. This wasn't any ordinary dress; it was a Dirndl, a traditional Bavarian dress. And I wasn't going to any ordinary ball.

In the nineteenth century, maids and cooks, servants and messenger boys would all come together early on summer Sundays at the Chinesischen Turm (Chinese Tower) in Munich's Englischer Garten (English Garden) to dance and socialize – and to meet future husbands and wives. They arrived early as they had to return to work soon thereafter as their employers began their own days. In 1904 these gatherings were outlawed due to "lack of morality," but were revived again in 1989 by Munich's cultural association.

And now it was 5:30am and I was meeting up with my fellows for our outing: initiator Carmen, in her own Trachten, Ben in Lederhosen borrowed from Andrea's husband, Carmen's guy Hans from Holland, beginner Spanish fencer (whom I had just met) Sylvie, and Henrick, Ben's friend who was visiting us from Sweden. Quite an international group, and an even number made for good dancing. We hopped in our cars and headed north into Munich proper from the hostel where we had had the annual fencing party the night before. The sun was above the horizon, but not by much, and the long shadows cloaking the city made for a special sort of excitement. Several clubs were releasing stumbling partygoers onto the pavement, but other than these few the streets were empty. As we approached the Englischer Garten, that changed. Suddenly there were people walking – in pairs and threes and fours – briskly toward our destination. We saw a woman in a Dirndl riding her bicycle down the street and knew where she was headed. Parking was crowded, but Carmen knew her streets and we found spots without much trouble. Then it was a short walk into the park and to the tower. There it was another world.

While the tradition of the Kocherlball began as an informal gathering, today it's anything but. The dancing starts at 6:00am, this year to the merry airs of Die Tanzgeiger, a folk music group from Austria. But the food and drink begins earlier. I was told that to get a seat at one of the fest tables, I’d have to show up at 5:00am; they were full by 5:30. The people who show up are, in great number, dressed for the event. Trachten is everywhere, and there are those who really dress up – on one hand either as maids or the cooks for whom the ball is named, or on the other hand in elaborate nineteenth century costume, complete with parasols and top hats. Coffee flows along with the usual beer, and the atmosphere is one of great merriment.

We showed up at a quarter past six and the event was underway. We could hear the music as we approached – fiddle, accordion, double bass, trumpet, trombone – a very danceable lively jig. The dance floor was already packed, and a wall of spectators formed its perimeter. We threaded our way into the wall in order to see the dancing. Couples two-stepped, smiling giddily despite being pressed back-to-back against neighboring couples. After a second freeform dance, the dance master (Tanzmeister) took the microphone and explained the dance step to the next tune. It would be a Dreikreistanz – a three-circle dance. The dancers maneuvered in pairs into three concentric circles and followed the instructions as they were called – two slow steps forward, four hops back, free-dance… It looked like so much fun!

And we got our turn soon enough as Carmen nudged us out onto the dance floor. A Dearndlwahl – women's choice, freeform style. Not much room to move, but we didn't need much to enjoy ourselves. Two-steps, turning, cheery music, grins on the faces of fellow dancers. Then another Dreikreistanz, the steps being simple enough to learn. And after that a new kind of dance we hadn't seen yet. Carmen and Hans suddenly appeared next to us, Carmen explaining: for this one we needed a pair of couples – two facing two, all in a line. Now things got a little more complicated but we had the Tanzmeister and the example of the pair of couples to our left, who were already adept at such dances. First, importantly were the bows. The men stepped out and bowed to their partners – across, to the right, to the left. Then they returned next to the women and the dance began. In bars of four, Ben and I danced vorbei, around Carmen and Hans, together and apart. We turned in pairs and continued to do so, drehen bleiben, for eight bars. Carmen and I linked arms across the row and danced around, returning so that Ben and Hans could do the same. Another vorbei, and dancing in pairs. “Drehen bleiben!”  the Tanzmeister called. And too soon the dance was over. But there were many more...

What a morning it was. The sun climbed in the sky and shone down brightly. For that we were thankful; it had been raining in Bavaria every day for three months. It did, actually, sprinkle a little, that evening, but the morning sky gave no hint of it. The trees and the tower provided cool shade as the air heated up with sun and the heat of dancing bodies. The air smelled like fried dough and pretzels, of the grassy park smell of the Englischer Garten, and of people – the not unpleasant scent of perfumes mixed with leather and sweat.

We took breaks from dancing, and made sure Sylvie and Henrick had a chance to join in the fun. We had breakfasts of coffee and fried dough, and watched the costumed people as they paraded by or sat firmly in their hard-won seats on the fest benches. As a couple hours passed, the numbers of people swelled and the dance floor was impassable. In response, impromptu groups of dancers formed around the Chinesischen Turm, and we joined one. The group included several older men in their Lederhosen, who clearly knew the dances, and as they led their partners in the circle dances and in the line ones, the rest of us followed along as best we could. A circle of partners, men on the inside, women on the outside. Dance together with the partner, turning, then separate, with the women proceeding clockwise around and the men clapping hands in pairs with each other. After eight bars of parading and clapping, we each had a new partner to dance with. And so it went. Song after song, dance after dance. Smiles and sun and music and merriment.

It was getting hot around 9:00am with the summer sun beating down and three hours of dancing gone by. The tourists began to appear here and there, some of them seemingly startled, but gladly so, by the fest they had accidentally stumbled upon. The cameras started to appear in abundance as the number of shorts and T-shirts approached the number of Dirndls and Lederhosen, but the partygoers barely noticed. They were too caught up in their music and dancing.