The Investment of St. Andrews

By Eben Harrell / St. Andrews

Religious pilgrims were the first to come here, in the 10th century. In more recent times, golfing pilgrims have flocked to St. Andrews to pay homage to a stretch of weather-beaten land on the edge of the North Sea where the game was invented 600 years ago. When they set off down the first fairway of the Old Course into the prevailing wind, they walk with heads bowed.

Everything about this small Scottish town stresses humility and unpretentiousness: its rugged, unadorned links courses, crumbling medieval architecture, quaint B&Bs and creaky-floored hotels. The hallowed Old Course lies on public ground--golf is forbidden on Sundays so families can picnic on the fairways. But now St. Andrews is undergoing a change that would once have been unthinkable. High-end golf, American-style--loud pants and loudmouths--has come to the uniquely understated home of golf.

In an iconic building behind the 18th green, Wasserman Real Estate Capital, based in Providence, R.I., is selling 23 serviced apartments for $10 million to $16 million apiece in a project it calls St. Andrews Grand. And on a bluff overlooking the town, billionaire developer Tim Blixseth is planning a course that will form part of an opulent time-share program, Yellowstone Club World, that gives members access, via a fleet of three private jets, to nine sites around the world, including St. Andrews. Membership starts at $3 million. The town's existing North American--owned luxury hotels--Kohler Co.'s Old Course Hotel, which owns the nearby Duke's Course, and the Fairmont St. Andrews--are both undergoing major renovations with the same market in mind.

But what happens when developers who see golf as a way to sell high-end time shares, apartments or hotel rooms come to a town that views golf as an Everyman's game and itself as the guardian of that ethos? The Old Course is a muni run by a charitable trust, which charges locals $250 a year for unlimited access (visitors pay the same price for one round). Wasserman's St. Andrews Grand markets itself on the back of the Old Course's history, but its occupants, because they are not full-time residents, will not have discounted or privileged access to the Old Course (nor will Yellowstone members). Instead, Wasserman is negotiating access to other, lower-profile courses in the area. Work has not yet begun on Blixseth's property, in part because of legal wrangling, but his developer insists the project will go ahead.

It may not get a warm welcome. Mark Parsinen, who oversaw Kingsbarns, a successful public course near St. Andrews, said developers are mistaken if they think St. Andrews can be to golf what Aspen has become to skiing. "It is fascinating to watch how wealthy golfers willingly go downmarket in Scotland. It's something to do with the pilgrim mentality. Do they want friendly service and quality products while they are traveling? Of course. Do they want white-glove glitz? Not in great numbers," he said. The town is still scarred from the failure of two high-end properties--Drumoig Golf Centre and the Gateway Club--which didn't attract enough glitzy members.

Local business owners understand the potential benefits of upmarket foreign investment in St. Andrews, a town of 17,000 where tourism accounts for roughly 1,700 jobs and $120 million in income annually. An organization called St. Andrews World Class has dedicated $22 million in taxpayer money to sprucing up the infrastructure in the hope of attracting wealthier visitors.

Still, St. Andrews has become the focal point of a boom in extravagant American-financed developments in Scotland. Seven are in the works, including a $500 million development in Aberdeenshire by Donald Trump, who claims, with characteristic Trumpian restraint, that he will build "the best golf course in the world." He told TIME that his project is not a follower of this trend but rather its cause: "I think I've done a lot to help put Scotland on the map."

Past failures don't scare Americans. They believe in location, and in golf, Scotland is it. You can understand why on late-summer evenings in St. Andrews. Often a white sheet of mist, known locally as haar, spreads over the Old Course from the North Sea, as if the spirits of the world's great golfers were tucking their cherished course into bed. Through the mist, golfers place white balls on tees as though lighting sacramental candles. Or is that Americans praying for a fat return on their grand investments?