Lessons from Nuno Cavaco
Malveira, September 2026
In my ongoing search to understand whether, when training horses, I want to be a rock or a spaghetti, I went to Portugal looking for answers.
I spent five days in Malveira with Nuno Cavaco, and I came back with much more than a few new techniques. I came back with a different way of looking at horses — and perhaps at myself.
Nuno teaches horse training almost as a form of meditation: quietly, attentively, as if we were about to rob a bank. Counting the steps. Counting the breaths. Feeling every movement. Making a conscious effort to remain completely present and to understand each horse in both its strengths and its weaknesses.
After a student has walked a new horse around the arena for the first few laps, Nuno always seems to ask some version of the same question:
“Do you already know what song you have to dance with him?”
That question contains so much of his philosophy.
We learn by listening. Listening to the rhythm, to the music of each horse. Not every horse dances to the same song.
But during those five days, I realized that Nuno listens to people with that same concentration and presence. And that is not always the case with horse trainers who become deeply connected to the equine world. They may understand horses extraordinarily well, but not necessarily the human who is trying to learn.
Nuno seems to have the rare ability to build a bridge between horses and humans.
And speaking of bridges, that may be the most important lesson I took home.
We dance. We walk slowly or quickly. We synchronize. We change the rhythm. We wait. We insist. Everything we do is ultimately about building THE BRIDGE.
Step by step.
And whatever happens: DO NOT LOSE THE BRIDGE!
The bridge connects the horse’s topline. It connects the hindquarters to the rest of the body. It engages the engine. It allows energy to travel through the horse. It makes the horse round, strong and beautiful.
And when the bridge rises, the magic happens.
One of the things I noticed when looking at Nuno’s horses was the remarkable musculature around their lumbar area, just above the kidneys. It is a visible sign of good training, discipline and time: a strong, resilient, elastic back that seems to invite you to go for a fantastic ride.
But perhaps the most fascinating lesson is that there is no single recipe.
Every horse is a world. And we are different every day.
In that infinite universe of possibilities and combinations lies the real challenge: finding the sensitivity of each individual horse.
Training begins in the horse’s brain and only then reaches the body. First, the horse has to understand. To pay attention. To think. Only then can that energy travel through the body.
That is why the whip can become a kind of magic wand. Sometimes you need to touch. Sometimes you only need to show it. Sometimes simply making it sound is enough. No wonder we sometimes feel naked without a whip!
The point is not to use it in the same way with every horse. The point is to discover the language each horse understands.
During those days, I met Honorato, with his peaceful, unhurried way of life; Nobre, the most handsome horse in the stable, almost the perfect horse; Fado, with his irrepressible desire to run; Acarus, strong in front and still disconnected behind; and Bingo the master of pirouettes, who showed me something particularly beautiful: how good training can help a horse grow old strong and healthy.
I went to Portugal looking for that magic.
And Nuno, with extraordinary generosity, showed it to me.
Thank you, Nuno, for five days of concentration, patience, silence, movement and learning.
Thank you for reminding me that training a horse is not about imposing a shape, but about building a connection. That good work happens step by step. That we have to listen for the song, find the rhythm, and — above all — never lose the bridge.
A big hug to Teresa, Dani, Mike and Slavi.
Until the next song.
Besos desde Quito,
Ana