A jacket with strong features requires a name that is just as extra-ordinary: the pronounced collar and details of the SEASE Ganassa jacket are meant for those visionaires who think - and act out of the box.
Ganassa Project stems from SEASE desire to tell about the stories and challenges of such unique personalities. The same ones who inspire us every day.
Ganassa, from a colloquial Milanese term, means a man with expressive traits, usually a pronounced jaw. It translates into equally strong personalities, and characters. Daring, irreverent, self-confident, the real Ganassa is always ready for a new challenge. To tell about their passions, we picked unique stories that definitely cannot go unnoticed.
Ganassa 001 Dario Noseda
Crossing the Atlantic is the ultimate dream of all sailors. Doing it on a solo trip, and on a Star is something different. It is a 'wrong' idea per se, somthing only brave humans would dare. We call them Ganassa. Dario Noseda, born 1968, is the first of our Ganassa men. This is how he describes his Star boat:
When I first saw you
by Dario Noseda
The first time I saw you was in 2007.
You were alone and half discovered,
a little dirty, I could see your shapes
that as if by magic caught my attention.
What were you doing there in the cold - it was December,
in that outdoor parking lot, behind those metal yard bars encrusted with concrete, and who knows what else.
It is true you were not my first Star, still the second,
but I can tell you that you took center stage not only for myself,
but also for all those who followed, admired, touched, criticized, denigrated, mocked and offended you:
only you in your class have crossed that immense expanse of salt water, which we both dreamed of.
He alternates a healthy pragmatism with flashes of lucid madness.
"At that time, I was a humble sailing teacher in the Tropics: Santo Domingo, Cuba, Mexico and Antigua. That is when I started to dream of the Atlantic Ocean. Ten years ago, back to Italy, I familiarized with Stars at small regattas.
Every day I loved the Star more.
I treasured a smart advice by Alfio Peraboni, the last Italian man who won an Olympic medal on a Star, with Dodo Gorla at the helm. In my mind, everything was crystal clear.
I wanted to cross the Atlantic. I wanted to do it by myself, alone. I wanted to do it in Star. No one had ever done it before, and the Star was my boat - the only one I had, also. Above all, I deserved such an adventure.
I started thinking about the boat, how to make it lighter and more performing. I reinforced the connection between the hull and the cover. The tree was replaced with a bigger one. Then, better attacks and a smaller cockpit. Shortened boom, adjusted sails.
I couldn't carry much on the boat. 80 liters of water, food by my dietician - the same bags that Samanta Cristoforetti used in orbit - a manual desalinator, a stove, a certain amount of dry food and canned food for my personal ease.
End of summer 2017 I am ready to go. I move from Italy on a van, with trolley and boat, then from Cadiz on a cargo. On November 11 I leave Tenerife alone, destination Bahamas.
After four days, the electrical system - the only job I delegated - breaks. I am forced to a technical stop in Cape Verde, where I replace batteries and connections.
Then off to Martinique.
The first six days were wonderful. Good wind, everything worked. Until another shortage.
Since then, I have been alone with GPS and phone, navigating to the Caribbean without an automatic helm.
At night I tried to put the Star on the hood, but while I slept it went where it wanted. Every half hour I had to wake up to empty the cockpit. One night, coming out sleepy to open the cockpit, a wave made me slip into the sea. Instinctively I try and make it back on board. I started to tie while sleeping below deck.
I was always on the move, I slept little and badly.
I survived drinking and eating like a wolf, and still I lost 18 kilos.
I was sailing between two perturbations, one in the upper Atlantic that was coming down, and another from the East that was chasing me. I crossed a lump for 16 hours: rain and wind, 40 knots, mainsail only. Not much else has happened: 22 days have passed and I arrived.
On the last evening of sailing, parading the island of Santa Lucia, I knew: on the Eastern side of Martinique there would be no light. I had agreed with a boat from the port for the night approach.
My partner had paid the shipowner, but he refused to leave.
After realizing on the phone that he would not arrive, I am shipwrecked on the island of Santa Lucia.
Still I am happy to be alive and to have accomplished my mission.
After 22 days of ocean, I walk in the dark to the nearest public security post. I was unable to return to the boat before three days. Someone had sacked it, making it a wreck. Still it was the experience I was looking for.
I realized that surrounding myself with the sea is what counts for me.
In the discomfort of my Star, I felt much more at ease than on the ground and civilization.