Danes, colonizers or just international traders? The Vikings didn't come to India!

The Danish Ghost on the Coromandel Coast: Why Tranquebar Is Next on My List

By Shashi Bellamkonda | December 30, 2025

There are places in India that everyone knows—the palaces of Rajasthan, the backwaters of Kerala, the chaotic brilliance of Mumbai. But lately, I find myself obsessed with the blank spots on my map. Specifically, a small fishing town in Tamil Nadu where the architecture is distinctly Nordic and the history books whisper a story most of us have forgotten.

It is called Tharangambadi. Or, as the Danes who ruled it for over two centuries called it: Tranquebar.

I haven't been there yet. But the more I read about this "Place of the Singing Waves," the more I feel the pull. It challenges the single-story narrative of the British Raj we are all so used to. It suggests that if you look closely at the Coromandel Coast, you don't just see the Union Jack; you see the ghost of the Dannebrog flag, the ambition of Danish merchants, and a cultural exchange that gave India something far more valuable than pepper: the printing press.

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The Merchants and the Monarch

My research into this forgotten chapter reveals that the Danish connection wasn't a brief anomaly. It lasted from 1620 to 1869—longer than many modern nations have existed. According to historical records from Wikipedia and CNN, the Danish East India Company, chartered by King Christian IV, didn't arrive with an armada to conquer. They arrived with a checkbook to rent.

They signed a treaty with Raghunatha Nayak of Thanjavur. This detail fascinates me: it wasn't a conquest; it was a landlord-tenant relationship. The Danes built Fort Dansborg—which still stands today, pink and imposing against the blue sea—as a warehouse for their ambitions. They wanted textiles and spices. The Nayak wanted rent and a buffer against other European powers.

It makes me wonder: What does a town look like when it has been a Danish trading post for 200 years, then British, and is now deeply Tamil? I want to walk those streets to see if the "Danishness" is just in the buildings, or if it seeped into the culture itself.

"Successful countries, organizations, and companies will always have to guard against outsiders. The Nayaks of Thanjavur understood this. They allowed the Danes in not out of weakness, but perhaps as a strategic hedge. It’s a reminder that history is rarely just about the victor and the vanquished; often, it’s about the dealmakers in the middle."

More Than Just Pepper: The Ink of Serampore

While I am drawn to the fort, I am even more compelled by the intellectual legacy. The British East India Company was initially hostile to missionaries, fearing they would disrupt trade. The Danes, however, took a different path. King Frederick IV sent the first Protestant missionaries, Ziegenbalg and Plütschau, to Tranquebar in 1706.

Why does this matter to a food and travel writer? Because they brought the technology of record-keeping. As noted by the BBC, the Danes introduced the printing press to the peninsula. They printed the Bible in Tamil, yes, but they also printed dictionaries and grammars. This legacy expanded to Serampore (Frederiksnagore) in West Bengal, where they founded a college in 1818 that still grants degrees under a Danish charter.

I want to go there to see the remnants of this intellectual exchange. We often talk about what colonies took from India. I am curious to see what this specific, smaller colony left behind.

The "Ozone" Mystery and the Plan

There is another reason this town is on my list, one that appeals to the sensory explorer in me. Local lore—and several travel forums—claim that Tharangambadi has the "thickest ozone layer" in India. Scientifically, this is likely a myth or a misunderstanding of the exceptionally clean coastal air. But the idea of it is intoxicating.

My itinerary is already forming in my head:

• The Stay: I plan to book a room at the Bungalow on the Beach. It is a restored colonial property, and reviews suggest it offers that rare mix of heritage architecture and the sound of the ocean.
• The Food: I am not expecting Danish pastries. I am hunting for the Meen Kuzhambu (fish curry) that supposedly tastes different here—perhaps because of the specific catch from these waters, or perhaps because everything tastes better when you are sitting in a 17th-century port town.
• The Walk: From the New Jerusalem Church to the Gate of the town, retracing the steps of merchants who were thousands of miles from home.

Why This Matters Now

Denmark eventually sold its Indian territories to the British in 1845 (mainland) and 1868 (Nicobars). They left quietly, ending a colonial presence that was more about commerce than empire. But they left a unique architectural and cultural fingerprint.

I want to go because these "minor" histories are often where the most human stories are hidden. We know the story of the Raj. But what about the story of the Danish merchant who just wanted to ship indigo and survive the heat? What about the Tamil printer who learned to set type in a new language?

Tranquebar is calling. And when I finally get there, you will be the first to know if the ozone really does smell different.