Like Obanye, poor interactions with Britain’s public services were a major push factor for Mike Cave. Following a series of horrific experiences in the NHS system, in 2022, Mike, his wife Frances and their eight-year-old son swapped London for Lisbon.
Enticed by the outdoorsy, spontaneous lifestyle and choosing to settle in the Portuguese town of Oeiras, Cave was relieved to find their decision was the right one.
While the Caves’ professional lives stayed much the same – he’s the director of a remote crypto firm and she runs singing groups – it was their son, who has ADHD and autism, whose day-to-day life changed the most markedly.
“In the UK, his teachers did what they could with classes of 30 pupils, but it was a case of ‘fit in or f— off’. He basically lived in his own world,” says Cave. “Now he’s in a class of seven at a private Portuguese school and gets way more hands-on time with teachers, so he’s smashing it out of the park.”
A similar calibre of school in London was never within the budget. On arrival the family’s natural choice would have been an international school, but in the year spent waiting to move to Portugal annual fees leapt from €10-15,000 to €20,000-25,000, which the Caves couldn’t afford either.
Mike sees this as a happy coincidence, because his son’s Portuguese school offers total immersion in the language, whereas teaching in the international school system is largely conducted in English.
“So far, our life in Oeiras has been great on many fronts: we get excellent medical care through private insurance, there are more favourable taxes on crypto assets and the community is like-minded, and of course, there’s the weather,” says Cave.
However, getting a D7 visa, designed for workers who earn a passive income on investments, has been an epic saga that remains unresolved. In the past year and a half, Cave has spent hundreds of hours and thousands of pounds chasing its status and none of the family have been able to leave the EU while in limbo.
“Many families are in the same boat, with no timelines for resolution; I reckon it could be several years before the Portuguese government clears the application backlog,” adds Cave. Finally, the Caves have a confirmed appointment and hope to obtain the necessary paperwork in the next few months.
“After going through all that pain, we have to reap the benefits,” he says. “We’ll stay in Portugal until we get a European passport, so about six years.”
‘I struggle to see myself going back to my old life’
To help avoid the kind of bureaucratic nightmare the Caves have endured, countries around the world have rushed to snip the red tape and roll out remote work visas (often dubbed ‘digital nomad visas’).
Designed to entice highly paid knowledge workers who can work remotely, the visas are often accompanied by compelling branding: a slick website, often in English, and resources on relocating to and working remotely in the country, including information on digital infrastructure, housing, and networks.
The approach echoes initiatives like start-up visas, which also focus heavily on branding and a user-friendly experience.
There are now over 60 digital nomad visa schemes, with the latest launched by Italy in April and Thailand in May.
A beneficiary of Malaysia’s digital nomad scheme is Sarah Tate, who made the initial move from Leeds to Kuala Lumpur with her husband and their four-year-old twins in 2012. It was his job that brought them to Malaysia and they were planning to stay for just two years.
