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The year was 2007. I was a naïve 22-year old on my first big overseas trip alone: a two-week sojourn to Los Angeles. For someone who fed on celebrity culture as my only consistent diet, this was a dream come true. Until the time came to explore the famous Melrose Place. My Lonely Planet guide boasted quirky, vintage shops and amazing cafes. The shoes would be to die for and the "cool" celebrities had their favourite haunts there. This was going to be amazing. Now remember, this was 2007 when Google Maps was a relatively new toy we pretty much only used to look at grainy pictures of our houses from space. Car rental was way beyond my budget. So armed with the aforementioned book and some rough internet directions, I set off to the nearest subway. You couldn't really blame me for winding up in the wrong place. See, the train station was called Melrose Avenue. The map I looked at seemed to show it running into Melrose Place. How was I to know it was literally the wrong side of the tracks? Believe me, the minute I stepped off the train, I knew. "Bail Bonds" became an all too familiar sign in nearly every shop window. People eyed me up warily from less than desirable properties. Abandoned cars, iron window bars and absolutely no stars. This was definitely not the Melrose Place I had been aiming for. This wasn't any place I'd ever aim for. This was as close to a ghetto as I'd ever got. I could've jumped straight back on the train towards my comfy hotel but something compelled me to walk down the graffiti-ridden footpath. I figured it couldn't have been long before I wound up in the "right" part of the street. It wouldn't be too far to the retail haven I was looking for. In L.A, a single road can encompass an entire village. It can take hours to go from one end to the other. And it did. I trudged along in the sweltering September sunshine, too scared to enter one of the many convenience stores for water. How did this happen? How did a sheltered girl from the other side of the world end up the spectacle of Dodgy Street USA? I tried to avoid eye contact but people stared, probably considering me more a sideshow than the crime scene tape that adorned several front yards. Two hours later I reached shopping mecca. But far more interestingly, I saw a life I had only previously heard snippets about in the media. Poverty can be merely down the road from luxury, and being subjected to it, even for a few hours, doesn't do a person any harm.