Four years ago, when Tammi Gaw, a 50-year-old property adviser, moved from Washington DC to Glasgow with her Scottish partner, friends and family laughed at her. “People back home kept asking me: ‘Ha ha, why would you want to move to Scotland, where it rains all the time?’ Now those same people are asking me: ‘Hey, how do I move there?’”
They are not alone. According to data from Rightmove, 28% of inquiries from Americans about buying a home in the UK are about Scotland, a larger number than for London. And a recent survey from lettings platform Goodlord reported a 63% rise in the number of Americans renting properties in Scotland since Donald Trump’s re-election in November 2024.
But Gaw, a member of Democrats Abroad, believes that disenchantment with the current administration does not fully explain Scotland’s appeal. She also cites the feelgood factor created by the more than 20,000 Scottish football fans who descended on Massachusetts for the World Cup this summer, winning over Bostonians with their pranks and bagpipe parades, enriching local bar owners and even bagging up their rubbish: “The Tartan Army put on a better marketing campaign for their country than any funded programme by the government. People now view Scotland as a very fun option.”
There are other, more hard-headed reasons for Scotland’s allure. “I advise people across all income brackets,” says Gaw. “Some are planning ahead. For example, they want Scottish residency so that, later, their children can get free university tuition fees.”
She mentions the NHS as another draw. Although most people moving to the UK on a family or skilled worker visa have to pay an annual immigration health surcharge of £1,035, this is considered a bargain by those familiar with American health insurance plans. “The cost was less than the basic monthly premiums in the US, before all the other deductibles and charges,” says Gaw. She suggests that Scotland has a particular advantage for those with longstanding health conditions because prescriptions are free for all in Scotland.
Politics and practicalities aside, a cursory glance at social media reveals another, less obvious, reason for some of this Caledonian clamour – the long-running fantasy series Outlander, in which a former second world war military nurse, Claire Randall, is transported to the 18th-century Highlands, where she falls in love with Jamie Fraser, a warrior. The series features scenic locations including the Devil’s Pulpit in Finnich Glen and the standing stones at Calanais. “Plans for the evening: watch Outlander. Knit Outlander shawl. Dream of moving to Scotland,” reads a typical post. “Just back from Scotland and did a few Outlander filming locations. Cried my eyes out for a couple of days after returning home. Need to move to the Scottish Highlands!” reads another.
Someone who knows more than most about the Outlander effect is Hailey Beaupre, 28, who runs the tour company Sassenach Historian. She became obsessed while still a student in New Hampshire, binge-watching the series, reading the books by Diana Gabaldon on which it is based and booking a whirlwind trip to Scotland.
“I attended an Outlander tour where we drove to Midhope Castle [the derelict 15th-century castle near South Queensferry was one of the locations in the series]. It was like a switch in my head flipped. I said aloud: “I’m going to move to Scotland and I’m going to do tours like this for a living.”
Beaupre now describes what happened next as “either a breakdown or a breakthrough”, depending on how you look at it. “I broke up with my boyfriend, I hired a therapist and I changed my degree from education to history, all in the space of a week.”
Her resolve to relocate remained unwavering, despite challenges. Her first attempt, enrolling on a course at Dundee University in March 2020, lasted three days before she was repatriated because of Covid. That same week, her best friend died. “Outlander, and the dream of moving to Scotland, gave me something to believe in, something to reach for during that difficult time. I would not still be here without it.”
Eventually, she completed a master’s at the University of Aberdeen, got a job as a tour guide and set up her own company. She now lives in Glasgow’s thriving Southside with her Scottish husband. “Honestly, I’ve never felt homesick or a longing to move back to the US. Scots are the kindest people on earth. You meet them in the pub and they’ll give you a hug and buy you a pint. I’ve never once felt unwelcome here. The thing that people say to me most often is: ‘I’ve lived here all my life but you probably know more about Scotland than I do.’”
As a Scot myself, I must hang my head in shame on that front. I have only the sketchiest grasp of Highland clearances, rebellions and clans, based solely on school textbooks that were more dreary than dreamy. But when it comes to today’s Scotland, it seems doubtful that anyone who has previously only lived in the US would have a clue about the reality.
Few Americans appear to be rushing to move to any of the less scenic areas of the Central Belt. Take the former shipbuilding town of Greenock, for example, where the council recently announced that it has been actively encouraging migrants to move there as a remedy for depopulation. And no one mentions that other Scottish screen hit, Trainspotting, in their relocation fantasies. Scotland has its fair share of social and economic problems, and not everyone is delighted by the influx of wealthy Trump refugees. “There is already a housing crisis in many of those longed-for areas due to second homes, holiday lets etc,” vents one poster on Threads. “People who pay over the odds for their dream homes push out younger folk from those areas, reducing services. Scotland is not a retirement village.”
On the other hand, social media and newspaper headlines are inflating the scale of the American inundation. Getting a visa is not easy without a British parent or an employer willing to sponsor you. Looking more closely at the increase in demand for rentals, the number of properties involved is tiny: from 265 in 2024 to 431 this year. Plus, Scotland needs skilled workers, and many coming to the country are filling vital roles in remote areas with falling populations.
Eleven years ago, American photographer Corey Kinnan, 44, and his wife went on holiday to Scotland for the first time. “We only had a week, because like many people in the US, we had limited vacation time. But during those days, we fell in love with the country. There was this one day in particular that started with whisky porridge for breakfast, then a tour of Balvenie distillery in Speyside, then an afternoon on the dunes at Lossiemouth, and in the evening a ceilidh. It was so appealing seeing a community coming together like that, in a way that doesn’t really happen in the US any more. Afterwards, my wife and I agreed that it was the most amazing day of our lives. We decided to sell our home in Maine and relocate.”
But turning the dream into reality was not easy. It took the couple 10 years to get there, and it was only possible because Kinnan’s wife, an obstetrician, got a job in Inverness. Now with a young son in tow, they bought a house in the Black Isle, a remote but scenic peninsula.
“Arriving there in the December was a bit of a depression,” admits Kinnan. Their bed was in transit. They couldn’t even buy a sofa because, without any credit history, they couldn’t apply for a credit card. It was all a long way from whisky porridge.
Gradually, though, they began to find their feet, buoyed by the landscape that had lured them there in the first place. “New colleagues generously loaned us furniture and made us feel welcome. And, when you cross over the Kessock Bridge into the Black Isle, seeing the mountains in the background and a red kite flies over your car, it feels like the best place on Earth,” Kinnan says.
Having to restart his photography business in a new country has proved tough, though. “I’ve had to adapt what I do, from only selling landscape prints to offering portrait shoots to people honeymooning or celebrating anniversaries in the area. That has become a big trend now, and one I’m grateful for.” He also stumbled upon Dingwall Camera Club, which he says has been a social lifeline as well as a boon for professional networking. “We don’t have anything like that back home. It’s yet another reason why our hope is to live here permanently. We want to contribute to our community and make Scotland a better place. Not that I am suggesting that it needs any improving,” he adds hastily.
Melody Sandona, a 66-year-old corporate meeting planner, also relocated to the Highlands in August 2025, when she got a remote-working transfer to her company’s European office. She has dual citizenship because of her Mancunian mother, and had travelled to the UK to visit family for most of her life. Yet she only ventured into Scotland after she turned 60. “I had an old friend who lived in Edinburgh and she invited me to come for a visit. I fell in love with the country on that trip. I had always planned on moving to the UK at some point; on that trip I decided to move from Colorado to Scotland.”
A perhaps over romantic view of the country prompted her to rent a stone cottage in a village on the Kyle of Lochalsh. The nearby village of Plockton is a location best known as the eerie setting for the film The Wicker Man. “My younger son was with me for the first six months and it was very cold and miserable.” Fortunately, Sandona lived next door to the local library and the two librarians took her under their wing and welcomed her warmly into the community.
“But just before Christmas last year, my Edinburgh friend paid me a visit. ‘What are you doing here? This is a dump!’ I mean, it was charming, but bleak. Anyway, she has a beautiful big home and insisted I move into her spare room. So, there are three women living there now, in this wonderful Golden Girls setup. We have a great time. I feel so at peace here.”
Sandona finds the cost of living is far cheaper than in the US. “I was spending $200 [£150] a month on cellphone service, $2,000 on health insurance and $1,000 a month on groceries. I’m never going back to the US – this is it for me. It’s been the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
For Ryan Forber, a 46-year-old firefighter from Nashville, the decision to move with his family to Kirkcaldy in January was political and practical. “My brother-in-law is from Edinburgh, and we visited two summers ago. Since the first Trump administration, my wife and I had been having a conversation about leaving. I felt that there was only so much you could do with activism and voting. At some point you have to just be like Albert Einstein and get out,” he says, referring to the scientist’s decision to renounce his German citizenship and move to the US in 1933.
Unfortunately, there isn’t a formal programme for American firefighters to join the Scottish Fire and Rescue Service, so for the family to secure a skilled worker visa, it was necessary for his wife, a vet, to find a job. “She got responses to her application within 48 hours,” says Forber, still sounding amazed. “It was lightning fast.”
It took a lot of energy and resources to make the move, though. “We sold everything we owned, including our home. I’m really aware that this isn’t an option for everyone. When you factor in all the costs, it’s a very expensive thing to do.”
Since the move, they have settled happily into the local community. Forber says he likes the slower pace of life, being able to cycle to school with his son on the back of his e-bike and being recognised by local people. “Scotland is a much safer place to bring up a child,” he says. “School shootings and gun violence have always been a concern of mine. I went to high school in Littleton, Colorado, at the time of the Columbine shooting, though I attended a different school. It was earth-shattering.”
Forber cites everyday joys and frustrations about his new life – missing his beloved Girl Scout Cookies, the slog of getting a UK driving licence, “though I’ve learned to love roundabouts”, the great pub culture, football and Scottish beer. The main challenge has been finding work as a firefighter. “I feel that I’m stuck in a system where I have to apply from scratch, along with all the kids who are just starting out. I could run rings round them, but I’m not even getting a call back. I really miss the camaraderie of the job as well.”
What advice would he give to his compatriots thinking about making a similar move? “It’s not all green pastures and golf courses. Keep an open mind. Just because you watched Braveheart as a kid does not mean you understand the country or its traditions. For example, I sort of want to buy a kilt, but then I don’t know if I’m really allowed to wear one. My Scottish friends tell me I should get one. But I’m dragging my feet. I’ve got until next January to decide.”
Why next January?
“Our first Burns Night,” he says. Spoken like a true Scot.
