I'm Actually A Princess

Disclaimer: Times New Roman is not even close to capable of expressing the amount of joy that is still seeping from every pore in my body, despite that I got fewer than three hours of sleep last night/had to take a German test today that would make even Lawrence Welk cry/think I have contracted consumption.  I will try my very best to describe the singular most fabulous thing that has ever happened to me, but I don't know how successful I will be.  Especially because I'm already exhibiting great linguistic ridiculousness, and I'm only in the first paragraph of this post.  Like the phrase "a test that would make even Lawrence Welk cry."  What does that even mean?  I am obviously still a little addled in the brain from so much excitement.

I digress.  Anyway, as a point of reference, January and February are the months for "ball season" in Vienna.  There are lots and lots of balls open to the public, from fancy balls like the Opera Ball (which is broadcasted live cause it's so darn fancy and where, we just found out, a private box costs 17,000 € !) to balls hosted by local charities or organizations.  Seeing as balls involve (1) dresses, (2) dancing, (3) attractive European men in tailcoats, my heart was of course set on attending at least one during the semester.

It just so happens that my charming roommates felt the same way, so we asked around and decided to buy tickets to the the Ball der Wiener Philharmoniker.  (That's the Vienna Philharmonic Ball for all you English-sprechers out there.  You know I just like typing "Wiener.")  It's a little more expensive than some, but the Wiener Philharmonik is stinking playing, and plus we'd heard that the dance hall was beautiful, so we thought it would probably be worth it.  So we got ready and, in our gowns and heels, oh-so-inconspicuously hopped on the trusty U-Bahn like the poor college students that we are.  

Several blocks, one Straßenbahn stop, two U-Bahn stations, and several more blocks later, we had finally arrived.  So it turns out I would have paid TWO GAZILLION EUROS to go.  

The Musikverein, which is where the ball took place, is old and gold and carved and sparkling and marbled and red-carpeted and chandeliered, and it has angels painted on the ceiling and little cherubim heads sticking out of all sorts of nooks and crannies in the most charming way.  I guess they thought this wasn't fabulous enough for the ball, so they decided to make hundreds of bouquets of giant pink lilies,  and then drape every balcony with long green garlands just absolutely dripping with yellow and pink roses.  I have never seen anything more majestic in my entire life.  

In the very middle of the hall is the dance floor, with a raised stage on one side that housed the Wiener Philharmonik as well as a wonderful jazz band, and also a line of chairs for Very Important Wieners like the Vice Chancellor and the Minister of Something and so on and so forth.  Around that is a raised section of tables where people can sip wine and comment on the copious amounts of lime-green ostrich feathers on Secretary Umlaut's wife's ballgown.  Above that are two more balconies that allow for a great birds-eye view of all the waltzers down below.  

Just being able to look at the dresses was well worth the ticket price.  If there is one thing European women don't know how to do, it's how to be inconspicuous.  The fake eyelashes abounded.  The updos defied gravity.  (So did the old-lady cleavage, but that's a story for another day.  Yikes!)  The diamonds and pearls and jewels weighed down earlobes and wrapped around necks eighty times and covered every finger and wrist.  There were slits up to here and hoop skirts out to there and dresses in every color of the rainbow (and definitely a few colors not found in nature).  Ostrich feathers, rhinestones, tulle, sequins, flowers, and the occasional dead animal were fair game for dresses, shoes, hairdos, and purses.  In-cred-i-ble.  

For the first hour or so of the ball, we just sat up on one of the balconies, totally transfixed by the beautiful, graceful waltzers below.  Apparently the Viennese exit the womb knowing how to waltz, so they've had much more practice than we have and just look absolutely stunning doing it in large groups.  See for yourself:

The orchestra was great and played all sorts of waltzes and cha-chas and foxtrots and polkas and tangos.  And somehow, everyone was good at dancing all of these.  We were totally in awe.  All of a sudden, the conductor made an unintelligible (but certainly enthusiastic) announcement in German, and the crowd went wild.  The pandemonium that followed I can really only describe as the Cha Cha Slide, Vienna-Waltz-Style:

And then, just when we thought things couldn't get any crazier, everyone started inexplicably run-dancing in a giant circle around the dance floor.  

At this point, we obviously couldn't let the Wieners have any more fun without us, so we found our way to the dance floor and into the arms of various charming dancers all night long.  I would love to tell you that I simply melted into the tender but sure grip embrace of a charming Austrian prince, but, truth be told, about 85% of the people I danced with at least twice my age, and about 40% were probably closer to three times it.  Not that I'm complaining.  You know how I feel about older men.  

The five of us made friends with Johannes and Matthew, who, besides being excellent dancers, are bona fide young Austrians and therefore have no choice but to be our best friends for the rest of the semester.  I also danced with a wonderful man who works for the opera and sang along to the songs and taught me how to polka.  And then I danced with a charming (but kind of sweating a lot) man who spun me in so many circles I though I was going to ralph.  And then I danced with an adorable man who, as the music started, said "I sink dees is a tango.  I don't know how to tango.  Ve shall improfise."  And improfise we did, as I smiled apologetically to the several dozen couples we plowed down in our attempt to make our way across the dance floor.   

But the very best dance partner of all was Franz, who is a very kindred spirit and probably the love of my life.  Before you get excited, let me first say that Franz is at least seventy years old and has grandchildren.  But Franz is also a charmer and a stellar dancer.  When my friends and I had finally made our way downstairs and I was standing at the edge of the dance floor watching, I moved aside to let an old man in his military dress uniform walk by.  But instead of going up the stairs, he held out his hand and said, "Möchten Sie tanzen?"  Um, YES I want to tanzen!  

Once I had recovered from the pure thrill of, oh, you know, WALTZING at a BALL in VIENNA with a MILITARY MAN with the VIENNA PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA playing the BLUE DANUBE, I tried to make conversation with Franz.  "I speak terrible German," I said in terrible German.  "I speak terrible English," he said in terrible English.  And then we laughed and continued waltzing and it was absolutely nothing less than wunderbar.  

I really think that it was probably the best night/morning (the ball lasted until 5-- of course we stayed the whole time) of my entire life.  There are so many more little things that I want to talk about, like the fact that everyone had really nice shoes, and that this really cute boy danced with his mom all night, and that there was a jazz singer, and that even old people lasted until 5 a.m., and that I have never seen such a concentration of white-tie-wearing, fabulous-European-cologne-wearing, suave European men anywhere, and that the orchestra played an arrangement of the YMCA and Franz didn't know what it was.  But I suppose I've already said an awful lot, and if you stuck with it till the end, you're a real trooper.