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You know, the act of performing precision steps, with a partner, to old-time music. With lots of other people watching. In this case, under the eye of Thomas Schäfer-Elmayer, the country’s most famous dance teacher (and a judge on Austria’s version of “Dancing with the Stars”). “Care to join me?” a smiling, statuesque young woman says, extending her hand. I guess it’s time to tango — or waltz — as it were.

I’ve never been a dancer, not at all. And yet here I am, in the ball capital of the world, taking lessons. Once the heart of the Habsburg Empire, Vienna has long been a centre of arts and culture. And next year, the city will celebrate , Johann Strauss II, with a flurry of concerts, museum exhibitions and other programming.

The prolific composer earned this regal title for his dance music, which is credited for making the Viennese waltz all the rage in the 19th century. Today, that popularity endures — incredibly, more than 400 balls still take place in the city each year. So, right around the kickoff of the (which runs from early November to late February), I’ve arrived on a waltz-themed press trip to take a twirl myself.

It’s not like I grew up in the town from “Footloose.” It’s just that my family, as a whole, didn’t dance. None of us has anything resembling natural rhythm. So at wedding receptions or rocking Jack-and-Jill parties, I get by with mostly unfunny tricks.

You know the ones: like the shopping cart, where you pretend to push a buggy and pick invisible items off the top shelf while miming vaguely disco moves. Also, the rolling dice. And a few others. But now, there would be no cheesy tricks to hide behind.

It gives me some measure of comfort to learn that Strauss, the king himself, actually didn’t dance the waltz. “He was too busy conducting,” Eduard Strauss tells me on a visit to the , a lovingly restored dance hall where multiple composers in the Strauss family have performed (and where Eduard, Johann’s great-grandnephew, sometimes conducts personal tours).

Our group of travel writers learns a lot about the musician, and the man. Often called the world’s first global pop star, Johann Strauss II toured internationally, playing for audiences of up to 100,000 people. He wrote more than 500 polkas, quadrilles, operettas and waltzes. He penned “The Blue Danube,” his best-known work and now the unofficial anthem of Austria, in 1868. His appeal endures: gets 1.3 million monthly listeners.

One chilly evening, we take a walking tour to various Strauss sites. These include favourite performance venues like the , plus where he lived at the peak of his popularity in the 1860s and 1870s.

Afterwards, we head to , previously the home of an aristocratic family. Now, its gilded rooms house a restaurant where you can snack and sip cocktails to the sounds of a twinkling grand piano. As we warm up over cosy coffees, our guide Gilles Gubelmann explains how Strauss whipped Vienna into a frenzy, with thousands flocking to dance halls across the city.

“It was a revolution of music — the whole capital was dancing,” he says, noting that all stations and classes, from workers to royalty, were swept up in the movement. “The concept of dancing changed, too, (in) that you would hold your partner.” As a result, critics, perceiving something lascivious, sometimes called the waltz the “devil’s dance.”

I cling to a vain hope that my fellow writers also grew up in dance-challenged families. No such luck. Several hail from European countries where learning the waltz is part of the standard junior-high curriculum. Others have a deep knowledge of classical music, casually chatting about weekend jam sessions with their cello-harpsichord-flute-oboe quartet. Before this trip, I knew more about Levi Strauss than Johann.

On the last day of the itinerary, it’s time for the devil’s dance. Schäfer-Elmayer’s grandfather started the Elmayer school in 1919, and it’s now one of the most prestigious in Vienna. To start, we line up to learn the six basic steps. Forward-side-close. Back left-side-close. “That’s waltz!” Schäfer-Elmayer pronounces.

I’m enjoying that strange sense of calm and briefly assume this is the end of the lesson. But then my heart goes cold. A group of the school’s brightest students enter the room, put on a demonstration, and then extend their hands to us. Including my smiling, statuesque partner, Tanya Hoefer.

First, we learn the quadrille français and, to my surprise, disaster does not strike. For example: I do not accidentally steer our spins to smash into other dancers, subsequently setting off a domino effect where everyone falls down, as I’d pictured in a dream.

In fact, as we progress to the traditional waltz, things continue well. After a couple of turns, Hoefer says, brightly, “You’re very talented!” And we both burst out in laughter, because we know it’s not true. “No laughing — this is work!” calls Schäfer-Elmayer, but he’s smiling.

Afterwards, while I huff and puff and we sip a bit of water, Hoefer tells me why she loves this 19th-century dance. “The music is so powerful and full of emotion, you don’t even think about the steps,” she says. “I love the movement to the music. It’s relaxing. You know the feeling?”

To my surprise, yes, I do. I’ll never be mistaken for the king of waltz. But I appreciate the beauty in the symmetry, the simplicity and splendour of the steps, the history of the notes. Yes, I’ve learned to love it all, too.

Tim Johnson travelled as a guest of the Vienna Tourist Board, which did not review or approve this article.