The Greatest Showman #1323 – Enchanted Blue

The crowd surged forward like a flood, rushing out of the train carriage and spilling onto the platform.

In an instant, the train station square became a chaotic sea of people, so packed that finding a clear line of sight felt impossible. The narrow square was suffocating, a feeling amplified by the golden sunlight. It felt as though I had melted into the warmth of the day.

Cannes' train station, typical of a small town, wasn't spacious.

With only four platforms, the station itself was compact, and the square outside was no larger than a community garden. In this limited space, trams and air-conditioned buses zipped in and out. The former was a quaint way to navigate the town, while the latter was a familiar sight for those traveling through the Côte d'Azur.

Amid the busy scene, fragments of life—motor vehicles, hawkers, souvenir shops, and tourists—filled every corner. Yet, there was no trace of the town's history or magnificent sea views. Everything seemed to disappear into the never-ending crowd.

This was Renly's first experience in Cannes.

In the midst of the crowd, Renly blended in effortlessly. Dressed in a white shirt, sky-blue jeans, white canvas shoes, a navy backpack, and a black San Francisco 49ers baseball cap, he looked like just another young traveler, a college student on a backpacking trip. Like countless others during the film festival, he was a nameless face, lost in the excitement and frenzy of the town.

Without hesitation, Renly gauged the direction and moved forward, letting his footsteps guide him away from the train station's bustle.

He navigated through the cobblestone alleys, heading south, no map required. He passed the busy commercial district and tourist spots, until, without warning, the cramped area opened up. Before him, a stretch of blue cut through the towering palm trees and the small street garden, greeting his eyes.

This was the coastal road.

To the right, the Cinema Palace stood not far from the beach, where a lively crowd gathered at the entrance, eager for photo ops. Staff members worked diligently, preparing the red carpet and lighting for the film festival, the air buzzing with anticipation long before the event officially began.

Renly didn't head right, though. He turned left, walking down the wide coastal road. The white buildings, golden sunshine, and green palms made it feel as though he had been transported to Malibu, California. The gentle sea breeze brought a sense of comfort and ease, a brief moment of leisure.

However, reality soon set in. The luxury brand stores lining the street, the bustling crowds, street performers, and models posing for fashion shots reminded him: this was not Malibu.

Standing by the open street, he glanced to the right and saw the beach. The rows of parasols stretched along the high embankment—white, blue, red, yellow—each representing a private bar or club. The entire beach had become a commercial space, with not a single spot left untouched by the commercial influence.

Renly felt a pang of disappointment.

He had hoped for a peaceful spot where he could take off his shoes, feel the sand beneath his feet, and dive into the clear blue water. Instead, it seemed that finding a public beach, let alone a quiet one, was nearly impossible.

The shimmering blue before him sparkled under the golden sunlight, its mint hue resembling a stunning emerald. Light poured through, creating a soft halo that reflected the beauty of the sea. A gust of sea breeze swept through, capturing that vivid blue in its path, almost addictive in its purity.

It became clear that the true way to experience the Côte d'Azur was not by standing on the sidelines, but by immersing oneself in it.

"Ahhh!" A loud scream interrupted his thoughts.

Renly turned instinctively and saw a small crowd forming around a slender man, dressed simply in a T-shirt and jeans, but wearing black sunglasses and a Louis Vuitton belt bag. His look exuded subtle star power, the kind that drew a constant stream of excited admirers.

The crowd cheered as the man paused, his handsome features expressionless, but obliging as he posed for photos, hugged fans, and took group shots. The buzz from this small group ignited a wave of excitement that spread throughout the block.

Others stopped to snap photos, even if they didn't know the man. His presence was magnetic.

Moments later, a woman appeared across the street, followed by a few fans. Despite her petite frame, her denim hot pants highlighted her well-proportioned legs, radiating youthful energy as she walked toward the man.

As their paths crossed, the two shared a passionate kiss. The crowd's excitement grew, flashes from cameras lighting up the scene as cheers echoed in all directions. The couple joined the group, posing for more pictures, as more onlookers pressed forward. The road seemed to transform into an island in the middle of the crowd, all eyes fixed on them.

The sound of honking interrupted the photo session, and the couple, hand in hand, led the crowd along the right side of the street, like a parade making its way through the marketplace.

The group of onlookers continued to shift, some leaving, others arriving. Some took pictures, some just stopped to watch. The buzz of constant movement made the air feel thick with the scent of a Vanity Fair.

Eventually, the couple disappeared into a private club, and the crowd gradually scattered.

"Who were they?" someone asked.

"I don't know," came the reply.

"Then why stop to take a picture?"

"Just joining in. We're in Cannes after all. I heard they're an Internet-famous couple from France."

"Wait, I thought they were Italian."

The conversation continued as the two passed by Renly, snippets of gossip floating through the air. In this age of social media, anyone could become a focus of attention, a spotlight that shifted constantly. The nature of fame had shifted, and the thirst for recognition had reached new heights.

Was the sea-blue before him more captivating? Or the bright, artificial lights of fame more enticing? This question was endless, one that everyone would answer in their own way, not with right or wrong, but with personal choices in life.

Renly adjusted the brim of his baseball cap, avoiding the crowd, and continued his walk. He passed several private clubs, each more crowded and noisy than the last, until he found one that seemed quieter and less popular.

At the entrances of the other clubs, movie fans could be seen asking security, "Is so-and-so here?" The guards, ever professional, refused to answer, but that didn't stop the crowd from lingering with anticipation.

Renly approached the entrance of the quieter club, asking politely, "How much is the admission fee?"

The security guard, sizing him up, responded in professional French, "Sorry, this is a private club, only guests with invitations can enter."

It was a standard reply, a tactic often used in Hollywood.

Renly didn't care to probe further. He wasn't interested in parties or the buzz around him. All he wanted was to find a peaceful spot, sit by the sea, and enjoy a moment of solitude.

"Thanks for the information," Renly said with a polite nod and turned away.

For a moment, Renly hesitated, wondering whether to return to his hotel room and rest or to call Ryan Gosling for a quiet getaway to a nearby town. Maybe, he thought, he could enjoy some peace away from the chaos.

As he contemplated his options, another burst of excitement rang out from the crowd. But Renly, by now, was numb to it. This had become a routine spectacle in Cannes, and there was little that surprised him anymore.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the crowd closed in, surrounding him. The scene was overwhelming, and even if he wanted to ignore it, he found himself in the middle of it all.