Welcome to the Boulevard Of Broken Dreams.
Here it is a street, a boulevard that houses every single broken dream. You can find yours, if you care to look. See, cooking dreams, sailing dreams, styling dreams, here they all are in the restaurants, boutiques and salons that line the street.
Go inside a shop: Painting Dreams. The paintings look perfect, do they? Go and take a closer look, that's what they actually were. Scribbles, crude drawings, or perhaps just a blank canvas.
The boulevard reaches, Oh! I don't know how long. Until eternity maybe. Or even farther. And it keeps on getting bigger, for all the new broken dreams.

What? Oh, what a stupid question. Of course this place doesn't exist. Not in corporeal, physical travel-sense, anyhow/ It's real enough though, and every person can go there if they really want to. But who would? Who would visit a place that houses every single crushed wish of all time?

Maybe this boulevard is just really someone else's failure. A failure of attempting to create a museum of every great achievement in human history.