DANCE FEVER
Learning to waltz in Vienna isn’t just about the steps, it’s a glimpse into the city’s history and its future. Catherine Dawson March slips on her dancing shoes and falls in love with ¾ time
I don’t think I’ve been held by a man quite like this before. I can feel his body heat through the thin white gloves as he bows low over my right hand, then steps forward to firmly cup my left shoulder blade. I’m nervous. He smiles down at me. Timidly, I place my left hand on his shoulder just so – my arm rests on his, while my thumb nestles into the crook of his shoulder joint.
“That way you can read his muscles, sense where Alexander is going to lead you,” Aga Chochorek, my instructor, murmurs, and with a swish of her full-length ball gown, she moves back to the sound system.
As we wait for the music to begin, I giggle, and almost sigh. I’m in a Viennese ballroom inside a 19th-century palais, arm in arm with a man dressed in tails, shiny black shoes and crisp white bow tie. Alexander is an incredible dancer, and he is 19. I’m old enough to be his mother. Johann Strauss’s Roses from the South waltz begins, and we’re off. This is the best vacation I’ve had in years.
Coming to Vienna to learn the waltz may not be the most original of ideas, but it’s the best place to learn. Dance, music, art, architecture – the city thrives on the court ceremony and traditions of the Habsburg monarchy, one of Europe’s long-reigning empires.
At times, wandering around Vienna, it can feel like you’re living in a Habsburg hangover – the Viennese waltz is living, cultural heritage here. Such a part of everyday life that 15- and 16-year-olds take weekly lessons without a fuss. So entrenched that every year 450 balls (a couple attract up to 6,000 dancers), from high-society galas to hip-hop-themed events, all move to the waltz at some point. Such a tradition that on New Year’s Eve, everyone stops – in the streets, at parties – to waltz to The Blue Danube.
The love affair with 3/4 time probably stems from the Congress of Vienna, when, in 1814-15, the most important statesmen of Europe – and the dukes, lords and ladies who travelled with them – descended on the capital to reorganize Europe after the Napoleonic wars. It was as much a social event as it was a border-establishing peace agreement.
The parties were legendary and the Viennese waltz – with its genre-bashing, titillating close hold – played a big part. Aristocratic dancing in those days had groups of men and women moving separately with elaborate, complicated steps and little touching. By contrast, the Viennese waltz was a simple, moving box step that brought dancers close and paired them off as they twirled about the floor.
There are more than 30 dance schools in the city, some with a weekly drop-in class, but I found one that not only taught me the steps, but introduced me to the culture. Waltz in Vienna is a boutique dance academy downtown on the edge of the Ringstrasse where students are welcomed into the parlour of a 19th-century palais that overlooks the leafy Beethovenplatz. (It also has a gorgeous 17th-century ballroom for larger groups in the heart of the Old Town.)
“It’s not just about the steps, it’s about the history and tradition,” said Chochorek, who is also a co-owner of the private studio. “This is not like going to a dance school. … We want to create an experience where guests can dive into the culture.”
Here in the bel étage, I chat with my instructors (who teach in full white-tie regalia) over Viennese coffee about the traditions of the dance, the etiquette and the city’s thriving ball season. This informative icebreaker helps calm my pre-dancing nerves. Now intrigued, and perhaps even a little awed, I was led into the ballroom next door.
We started slowly with a Schubert serenade and then a Mozart minuet, and I worked my way up to what really makes the Viennese version stand out from other waltzes – the constant turning (clockwise or counterclockwise) in quick 3/4 time.
I’m almost panting after Alexander and I whirl about to Tales from the Vienna Woods by Strauss. Sensing when I need a breather – or to protect those shiny black shoes from being stepped on – he leads me into a schunkelling, a strictly Viennese move that lets us (well, me) recalibrate to the beat, before we’re off again. Later, Alexander tells me that he danced four balls a week in the main January-to-February season, spending all night – they don’t end until 5 a.m. – on the dance floor before heading home.
The aesthetic precision of the Viennese waltz – how you hold your upper body, the deceptively simple, quick-footed box step – really gets your heart pumping. But I can’t figure out if my face is flushed from the workout or because I am living out my princess fantasies. Being led onto a dance floor in a swirl of traditional ballroom etiquette followed by a hand kiss and curtsey will do that to a girl.
Later that day, I drop in on the dance classes at the Elmayer school in the centre of Vienna’s Old Town; it has been teaching locals since 1919. Standing on the herringbone-wood dance floor of this small, historic studio, owner Thomas Schafer-Elmayer tells me that between 300 to 600 young dancers trod these floors every day in the busy season.
Three generations of his family have run the school, and after a business career that took him all over the world, he succumbed and joined the family business, still teaching the odd group at the age of 70. He is a celebrity in these parts – he’s a judge in Austria’s Dancing Stars, he has written five books on etiquette and he runs the opening dance at several of the city’s top balls. Lately, Schafer-Elmayer said, his school held waltz classes for Syrian refugees even though only the boys showed up to learn.
It’s an example of how the waltz continues to play a big role in the city’s culture, even as it changes. Conservative traditions are also tweaked by Viennese who find their fun outside the traditional boy-girl constraints. LGBT dancers flock to the annual Rainbow Ball and the HIV/AIDS fundraiser that has turned into Europe’s biggest charity: the Life Ball.
Since I showed up at the Elmayer school in a small group without dance partners, Schafer-Elmayer has us block out the waltz steps individually, over and over again until he thinks we might have it.
“As an Austrian gentleman,” he tells us, “you are not allowed to turn down a lady who wants to dance.” When no one takes the bait, Schafer-Elmayer simply holds out his palm for a partner. Confident, I raise mine into his for the hand kiss as I curtsey. But when I raise my arms into position, he pulls me in tight – waaaay closer than Alexander dared – and off we go. So this is what got the aristocrats all excited, I realized as we took off to The Blue Danube. Until, inevitably, I stumble and happily hand him off to the next student.
On our way out, we need to pass through one of Elmayer’s classes. About 50 teens pair off around the long, rectangular, slightly musty studio to prepare for the coming season when, as debutantes, they will be invited to open balls all over the city. The cool kids, the nerds, the pimply, the fashionistas – all are dressed in their Sunday best on a Tuesday afternoon. The boys wear white gloves, the girls are in small heels, some are bored, some embarrassed, a few look thrilled to be holding each other so close.
Their instructor stops and starts them often – correcting steps or posture or etiquette – and as I watch I can see how their bodies move like the pieces of a puzzle coming together in time to the music.
Standing in this old ballroom filled with young kids learning a 200-year-old dance, I’m mesmerized. Next season, I’m coming back with my own ball gown. Maybe I’ll run into Alexander.
The writer was a guest of Austrian Airlines and Vienna Tourism. They did not review or approve this article.
