I’m not sure why the British ambassador to Austria agreed to meet me. I hadn’t even sent a letter of introduction from a reputable sponsor, as Grand Tourists once did, begging diplomats for an audience in the cities they visited. “A young man with limited German,” mine would have read. “In fact, a limited young man — but desirous of learning statecraft.” Instead I sent an email.
Yet here I am, in the embassy on Jauresgasse in Vienna, being shown around by Lindsay Skoll, also the UK’s permanent representative to the UN. I’m doing my best to put my company at ease, as instructed by Thomas Ka, the etiquette expert I had met in Paris. I seem to have succeeded: Skoll is talking for Britain.
“What you want as an ambassador is the ability to convene,” she says, leading me into a grand dining room where she hosts dignitaries. The walls are hung with portraits of her predecessors: solemn, patrician men. I wonder what they’d have made of Skoll — ebullient, humble and a bit of a mischief-maker.
“As fun, you always seat the French ambassador here,” she says, gesturing to a chair opposite a painting of Wellington at Waterloo. “And you wait until they notice. We always have a laugh.” Talk turns to Vienna’s ball season, which peaks in winter and includes a diplomatic ball for waltzing and networking.
Jack Ling with Lindsay Skoll
“It isn’t just some elitist thing,” Skoll says. “It looks delightfully whimsical and old-school but still holds real currency today.”
I ask if I can come. To my surprise she says yes. Before my tour I’d never have dared; aristocratic living breeds dangerous levels of confidence.
Now the end has begun. I had arrived from Venice by train the day before. Past Verona, with its church domes and bell towers, the Adige River joined us, a constant companion into the foothills of the Alps. The hills grew steeper, cultivated with vines, their cordons lifted like pleading arms to the sun. Then came Alpine meadows, gossamer waterfalls and the Brenner Pass — once one of the few land routes out of Italy, where porters hauled Grand Tourists in sedan chairs.
I took it all in from my first-class cabin. By now I was convinced that rail is the best way to travel through Europe; but the network of railway lines that made my trip possible also doomed the Grand Tour by opening up the Continent. Besieged by the masses, aristocrats retreated into the fortress of the Alps. Their last stand still echoes in the brays of après-skiers.
After my ten-hour journey, the first thing I did in Vienna was see a man about a horse. That man, in tweed and a bowler hat, met me outside my hotel: the Sacher, a grande dame as decadent as the sachertorte cake invented by one of the Sacher family. He ushered me into a carriage, or fiaker, with a bottle of grüner veltliner chilling in a bucket on a table (£200 for 40 minutes, for up to four people; ridingdinner.com).
Hotel Sacher, one of Vienna’s most decadent grande dames
LEADING HOTELS OF THE WORLD
We trotted through the city, horns blaring behind us, across the Hofburg imperial gardens, en route to the Golden Hall of the Musikverein — Vienna’s most prestigious concert venue — for an evening of Mozart. I disembarked and collected my ticket: a supérieur seat in the front row, so the music would reach me sooner than the masses (from £60pp; getyourguide.com).
“I’m glad someone else dressed up,” said William Felton, 62 — a dashing Wisconsinite in a tailcoat — nodding at my bow tie as I sat down. But we were both shown up when the orchestra appeared in baroque costume and powdered wigs. After a hush the music began, enriched by the hall’s renowned acoustics. I drifted into a state of reflection on my tour.
It is one thing to do the original Grand Tour; a modern Grand Tourist, though, explores not just stone relics but the ruins of a mindset. From the 17th century, posh youths ventured overseas, eager to prove their superiority to a Britain that still indulged the idea. Yet even in the Tour’s earliest days, a moral revolution was beginning to grip Europe.
• Read our full guide to Vienna
The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche argued that aristocratic values were quietly recast by the disenfranchised. Nobility became arrogance, pride became vanity, and humility and equality were elevated to virtues. In England Puritans sneered at peacocking Cavaliers; in France revolutionaries gave nobles a free trim. The modern western mindset was gradually born, and it’s why the prancing of Grand Tourists strikes us as ridiculous.
The Musikverein is Vienna’s most prestigious concert venue
ALAMY
As the final piece, Eine kleine Nachtmusik, played, my welling eyes were dams about to burst. I was still humming it the following day when I met the dance tutor Aga Bohun for a lesson in the Viennese waltz. Only late Grand Tourists performed the dance, Bohun explained; it didn’t enter polite society until the Congress of Vienna in 1814 (from £41pp for a 50‑minute workshop; waltzinvienna.com/waltz-school/).
Its debut caused a minor scandal, and I could see why. Bohun drew my body perilously close and placed my right hand on her waist. Then she eased me into those famous orbital steps, telling me to move with force towards her, which promised a head-on collision until, at the last second, she slipped gracefully away.
Then came the handover. “You lead and I follow,” she said, as we rehearsed in silence ahead of our finale: The Blue Danube, by the Viennese maestro Strauss, at a proper ballroom pace.
Gaining in confidence, I managed a few half-turns at speed before swirling into an elegant exit step. “Well done!” Bohun said afterwards, pressing play on her stereo. As Strauss filled the room, she explained one last tradition.
“At a ball you must ask the lady to dance,” she explained. “Offer your right hand and then ask, ‘Darf ich bitten?’ It means, ‘May I have this dance?’ And then you perform a hand-kiss.” Bohun fell silent, as if to demonstrate the waltz’s commanding principle: the man must take control. Suddenly panic gripped me. But there was someone in the room to help: the amused spirit of Thomas Ka.
“You must kiss but not kiss, touch but not touch,” he said, wagging his finger. I took a deep breath. “Darf ich bitten?” I asked Bohun, extending my arm, finding her hand.
I bowed my head. I had been outfenced in Paris, blistered in the Alps, wine-soaked in Rome and bled dry in Venice. But when I rose, here in Vienna, I like to think I rose as something resembling a gentleman.
Jack Ling was a guest of Byway, which has ten nights’ B&B from £2,630pp, including rail travel from the UK (byway.travel); and Hotel Sacher Vienna, which has room-only doubles from £509 (sacher.com)
Read more about Jack Ling’s Grand Tour here
• Part one: the most unusual way to see Paris
• Part two: the off-piste way to see the Alps
• Part three: a novel way to see Rome and an eye-opening art class
• Part four: the beautiful spot on my Grand Tour that left me speechless