Tango dance in Turku, Finland

“We Finns would have died out long ago if we didn’t have the tango!” Kati calls out to me before she dances with her partner Joonas in two-four time over the cobblestones. The two sway to the left, bend to the right, gracefully nestled together. Katis Hair is blowing, her colorful skirt is flapping, her white high heels are dancing around the mean gaps between the stones. The alleyway turns into a stage at this moment, bathed in pastel by the afternoon sun. I rub my eyes, it looks so beautiful, this tango in Turku.

Kati will later dance in a café and on the banks of the river, maybe she will continue dancing at night on one of the many bridges? It’s possible. Because this is Finland, the second largest tango nation after Argentina, and Turku is euphorically celebrating itself as the cultural capital, especially on the bright summer nights when the sun hardly ever sets.

Kati Koivisto’s eyes light up when she tells what tango does: “This music makes us think big things, about love, longing, nature.” The 29-year-old teaches tango, cha-cha-cha and humppa, a Finnish one Dance that looks exactly like the name suggests. But the tango! Finns have been addicted to this for generations. In 1913 the first bars sounded in Helsinki. The melancholic melodies met the world-weariness of the Finns, who were then suffering under Russian rule.

They finally felt understood, composed their own versions with more minor keys, more melancholy. While the Argentine lyrics are about fight, revenge and rivals you want to kill, the Finnish tango mourns the loss of the loved one and cries after her on the beach with a white handkerchief. The dance style is also not based on show effects, it is important that as little space as possible fits between the couple. That’s why the thesis persists that the tango is the only chance for the taciturn Finns to impress women. This way they could show feelings without having to talk. Kati disagrees: “That may have been the case in the past. But men have evolved, and there are so many more reasons for tango.” Blonde Joonas nods – and says nothing. She tugs at his sleeve and they both disappear to the other side of the river.

The Aurajoki flows through Turku right in the middle. And you always have something to do on the other side. On the left the cathedral, on the right the market hall, on the left the observatory, on the right the design shops. The constant zigzag course makes me grumpy. I keep trudging past joggers, cyclists and restaurant boats until I stand in front of the white steamer “Ukkopekka”. Because a sign says “Tanz am Pier” (Dance on the Pier), I get on. I take a deep breath on deck.

I finally understand the river better because I can see where it is leading: out to the Baltic Sea, into the archipelago with its 20,000 islands. The steamer docks at Loistokari, not an island, more like a rock with a hut on it. Because of the strong north-easterly wind, all passengers wrap themselves up for the barbecue, some even wear hats and gloves. And yet, as the two-man band strikes up a tango, one couple begins to dance, then two, then five. It doesn’t look elegant because of the thick down jackets, but the dancers beam like Loistokari is a sunny island of happiness somewhere in the south, for which all you need is a little imagination – and a little tango.

“Lavatanssi” – Finnish dance

Turku artist Jan-Erik Andersson is building his own Phantasialand. He himself is “probably the only Finn who can do well without tango”. He lives in his “Life on a Leaf” house – on the floor plan of a leaf. Outside it looks like a yellow toy ship that accidentally crashed onto the meadow, inside it’s even wilder: wavy walls, bright green floors, jagged window frames. “Memories, feelings and fairy tales, all these imprints are in here,” says Andersson, adding seriously: “It is not us humans who design a house, but the house that designs us. It works back on the soul.” For the Capital of Culture year, the 56-year-old with chin-length hair built the “Sounding Dome Sauna” in Kupittaa Park, which looks like a bright yellow mix of garlic and pumpkin. It makes noises during heating and cooling: rain pattering, Hissing, crackling. whimsical? Not a bit, in Turku there are even more artificial saunas, including a completely transparent one in the center or the “Sauna Obscura”, which projects the Turku archipelago onto the naked body, blurring the differences between man and landscape. I need to get out of the city, I think, out into the country.

So I sit in Minna’s VW bus in the evening. Minna runs a taxi company, but today she took time off and cleaned up. White blouse and red lips for the “Lavatanssi”, the dance on the wooden floor. “You don’t know Finland without Lavatanssi,” she had said. That sounded so convincing that I joined her. There are hundreds of places like this in Finland, but the prettiest is definitely in Somero, says Minna. Of course she says so, after all she comes from this small town, 75 kilometers from Turku. “So many memories hang on Lavatanssi. Everything important happened, the first kiss, argument, reconciliation, everything.” In the evening sun we drive east, through pine forests, past rivers and lakes. The closer we get, the clearer it becomes that something strange is happening.

Now he looks grim. The following conversation goes something like this: I ask something short and not too complicated. Then Harry talks for five minutes in rattling Finnish to Reijo, who rattling back ten minutes, waving his arms, laughing, scolding. What he says is definitely exciting, but I only get three dry words from Harry every time as an answer. Yes, Reijo Taipale still likes “Satuuma”. He sang the song 7000 times. 50 summers long. Before that he was a lumberjack. Brought the sun to the people. Whenever a tree fell, it got a bit brighter. “Satuuma” also brings sunshine, just into the heart.

All young people should dance tango. Be a lot simpler than modern fidgeting. And much more intimate. Just when things get exciting, Taipale jumps up, hugs me, rattles “kiitos” three times, thank you. interview over.

He blows his nose in toilet paper and climbs the wooden stairs to the stage. Applause breaks out. I rush up into the hall and can hardly get through. crowds of people. Young, old, fat, small and large. Black and white polka dot dresses, red satin blouses, glittering hair clips. Everyone gyrates, strides, floats in one direction. I see Minna, her eyes closed, pressed close to a man. In Reijo Taipale’s voice this longing melt still trembles, slightly shaky in the right places, so that everyone takes off blissfully into their fairytale land. Only Harry looks depressed. “Actually, I’m a singer too. But not a famous one. Should I still sing something to you?” If a sad Finn asks that on a tango evening, you can’t refuse under any circumstances. I follow him into the next room to the karaoke machine.

Harry downs another vodka and then belts out Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York.” He sings like he’s going down. Sing against the master and the tango sounds blowing in. When he falls silent, a barmaid claps. Next door, hundreds cheer Reijo Taipale. Harry smiles wistfully. He knows New York, also Namibia and Egypt, he was away for 20 years, happy years. Nevertheless, he returned to the forests of Finland. “What was the point of it all?” he asks. A long silence. “Maybe the tango,” he answers himself. Then he bows in an old-fashioned way and pulls me onto the dance floor in the main hall. I can’t do that at all. Or is it? In fact, we’re floating across the wooden floor in the middle of a huge carousel of flying dresses, skirts and pigtails. How does that feel? like in a fairyland,