The young man was there that night as a “taxi dancer.” He held me firmly by the arm and inched us through a boisterous crowd on the dance floor while I tried not to faceplant in my long dress. We had to hurry. The midnight quadrille was about to start at the Philharmonic Ball in Vienna.
The last time I was in the Austrian capital, every country in Europe still had its own currency and I was on a student budget. This trip was decidedly more upscale, revolving around one of the poshest events on the city’s social calendar: the annual ball put on by the Vienna Philharmonic at its century-old concert hall, the Musikverein.
Johann Strauss Jr. and The Blue Danube, just one of his myriad compositions, are as much a part of Vienna’s DNA as schnitzel and apple strudel. But what good is a waltz if you have nowhere to dance it? Hence the city’s love affair with balls. More than 450 are held each season, between November and February. Every professional guild organizes its own: lawyers, coffee-house owners, chimney sweeps. And more recent iterations, such as the gay ball and the hip-hop one, are flourishing. But the belles of the ball are the rival soirées put on by the Vienna Philharmonic and the Vienna State Opera.
A group of visiting travel writers practise the quadrille at Elmayer Dance School in Vienna.
Most kids in Austria learn how to waltz in school. But my hosts knew that was unlikely to be the case for me and the rest of the travel writers on this trip. So, they organized a crash course at Elmayer, one of the city’s best-known dance studios. That’s when we found out about taxi dancers, fellas who circulate in the room and, much like a cab, can be hailed for a spin.
The dress code for the Philharmonic Ball is white tie: floor-length gowns for women and tailcoats for men. Several days earlier, we had paid a visit to Flossmann, one of Vienna’s premier apparel rental establishments, to pick our outfits.
The afternoon of the ball, we had our hair and makeup done in the Royal Suite of the five-star Hotel Imperial, which is right next door to the Musikverein and the place to stay for those jetting in from around Europe for the event.
Then, decked out in our finery, we headed down to a champagne reception in the hotel’s normally mellow piano bar. It was a dazzling scene, literally, twinkling with crystal flutes and jewels. What stood out for me, among the unexpected details like the top hats checked at the cloakroom, was the multigenerational feel of the crowd, which included everyone from a family matriarch catching up with her coterie to young professionals out with their posse.
Kickoff time for the ball was 10 p.m. From our seats in the mezzanine, we had a bird’s-eye view of the hall: massive chandeliers, gilded everything and more floral arrangements than a royal wedding. And just like that, with no dimming of lights or waiting for a hush to settle, the doors at the far end of the main floor were thrown open. Dozens of young couples – girls in white dresses, just like Julie Andrews sang – filed into the room in perfect straight lines.
They stopped on their marks, struck elegant poses and held them for the next half-hour with remarkable stamina. In the meantime, a fanfare accompanied a less lively procession – the ball’s VIPs, many of them folks from the earlier cocktail party. When they were finally seated, the orchestra performed a handful of famous waltzes. Then, the musicians moved off to the sidelines and a big trap door opened up from the floorboards. All the bulky instruments vanished into the basement. And the dance floor, at last, was cleared.
The young couples – who had auditioned for the honour of opening the ball – began to slowly come to life like wind-up ballet dancers in a child’s jewellery box. Bit by bit, they gathered momentum until they were gliding across the floor in perfect unison, a human kaleidoscope. I didn’t want it to ever end. But all too soon, the master of ceremonies proclaimed in a booming voice: “Alles Walzer!” Let the waltz begin.
That was the cue everyone in the audience had been waiting for. Within minutes, the dance floor was so full that trying to squeeze in felt like merging onto the autobahn. A quaint sign was parked at the edge of the room showing where to line up for taxi dancers.
I had other priorities. Apparently all good Viennese balls have disco rooms. So I beat a path to the basement to check out what the DJ was spinning. It was a fascinating scene, with neon strobes lighting up dancers – old and young – getting down to seventies and eighties hits in their tails and evening gowns. The song Funkytown was playing and that felt right on the money: “Town to keep me movin’ …” I had to keep an eye on the clock, having promised to dance in the midnight quadrille. Another ball staple, it’s a sort of 19th-century, high-society square dance.
If you want a break from the waltz, head down to the basement of the Musikverein to the disco room.
Back upstairs, in rows snaking up and down the dance floor, couples lined up facing each other. The emcee called out a sequence of steps. It started off at a walking pace, but the tempo kept picking up until everyone got muddled and collapsed into heaps of laughter.
The instructions were in German, which I do not speak, but my taxi dancer did not lead me astray. It was a lot more fun than I had imagined. There was another quadrille at 2 a.m., but I was not going to make it that late, nor get to indulge in middle-of-the-night carb-loading at the nearby sausage stands. The vendors close up shop at 4 a.m. but the ball keeps going until 5.
Egle Procuta, centre, dances the midnight quadrille.
I had another event to rest up for. Vienna is known as one of the top gay-friendly destinations in Europe, and the Regenbogenball (Rainbow Ball), which celebrates the LGBTQ community, is another annual tradition.
It was taking place at the Schönbrunn hotel, in a leafy well-heeled neighbourhood outside the city centre. The ballroom was smaller and less ornate than at the Musikverein, but the vibe here was way more relaxed. Many people were sweetly klutzy on the dance floor, and the drag queen VIPs hammed it up.
I didn’t make it to the midnight quadrille this time. I had to be up by 6 the next morning to catch my flight home. So instead of looking for the taxi dancers, I made my way to the taxi stand to catch a cab before my ride turned into a pumpkin.
If you go
Italian travel writer Sara Magro and “taxi dancer” Can Michael Nural at the Vienna Philharmonic Ball.
If you want to brush up on your dance skills, Elmayer Dance School offers classes for the public, including tourists. Group and private lessons are available; private 50-minute classes go for $155 per couple.
At the Philharmonic and the Opera balls, the dress codes are strict. For women, it’s a floor-length evening gown. Cocktail dresses are not acceptable. For men, it’s a full evening tailcoat (white tie) or an Austrian gala uniform. A tuxedo is not permitted. The dress code at the Rainbow Ball is looser: knee-length dresses are allowed and tailcoats aren’t mandatory.
There is no shortage of places in Vienna to rent outfits. Flossmann is one of the best-known. Dress rental is approximately $730 (depending on style). White-tie outfit rental is about $520 (including bow tie, gilet and shirt). Other rental options include: Kleiderverleih Rottenberg (for women and men) and Teller Herrenmode (men’s attire).
The Vienna Philharmonic Ball takes place on Jan. 22. Tickets go on sale starting Jan. 12 and sell out quickly. The Rainbow Ball on Jan. 24 is already sold out. So is the Vienna Opera Ball on Feb. 12.
Check each ball’s website for ticket details or to add your name to a waiting list. Prices range from about $140 (ticket without a table at the Rainbow Ball) to around $360 (for a standing ticket at the Philharmonic Ball. A table seat is approximately $245 extra per person, depending on the location.)
The author was a guest of the Vienna Tourist Board. It did not review or approve this article before publication.
