Love Travels | Filial piety in the old alleys, longing for the love

Starting from Zhongshan West Road in the south,

North to Yongfeng Road ,

Break the asphalt road,

But I heard the word "Chongxiao".

Xiaowen Street

After watching "Dajiang Dahe", many people were brought back to their parents' era, full of curiosity and cherishment about the old streets lined with old houses and old tiles. More and more old districts in Ningbo are being demolished, and the only thing that can be left to remember is the photos in the camera.

Xiaowen Street is located in Haishu District, Ningbo City, close to the Drum Tower. It used to be named Helishi Bridge, Shuifu Bridge, Fangjia Bridge, Xiaowenfang, Shuangchi Street and other places. It should be familiar to Ningbo people who once lived in Haishu.

When you step into Xiaowen Street, the first thing you feel is the smell of dust from old houses. The old neighborhoods in Ningbo always look like this. The walls are short, the houses are at uneven heights, and the alleys with no end in sight are the places where I played most often when I was a child.

The street trees on both sides of the street are still the same color as the Double Ninth Festival trees. The local people call them "Raindrop Trees" because when summer comes, if you stand under the trees for a while, you will feel the thin raindrops falling on your body. A sudden feeling of coolness .

Most of the old houses have their doors closed, and the winding wires are hanging down at will. Looking inside through the cracks in the doors, it looks like people have left the house. In the half-broken window, a suddenly jumps out. A little yellow cat ran away from his feet with a meow.

Xiaowen Street was originally a small street along the river. The most common tailor shops and barber shops opened along the street. You can often see the words "car factory" or "baozi shop" under a red arrow on the gray cement wall at the corner.

It can't help but remind people of people's lives in the 1980s. They went to a tailor shop to have their clothes made, a photo studio to develop film photos, and a barber shop to get a clean haircut.

Nowadays, the flower stickers on the frosted glass are full of scratches, the iron door is already covered with rust, and the crisp ringing of bicycle bells no longer reaches my ears.

But the old man who passed by was still speaking Ningbo dialect. He was carrying oil in his left hand and vegetables in his right hand as he walked home; There are also freshly bought broad beans peeled inside.

As I walked, there were often small alleys with corners, and my curiosity led me to go deeper. Turn left and then right, one house after another, with the small doors open, and occasionally you can still hear the sound of cooking in several houses.

When I first stepped into Xiaowen Street, I raised my camera and took two or three pictures. The aunt who was chatting with others saw me and said to others: "Look at that little girl taking pictures, take more pictures." "Oh, I won't see you again." These words came to my ears with endless reluctance and sigh.

Walking out of Xiaowen Street, all of a sudden, the sound of car horns, people's conversations, and the hustle and bustle of the city all entered my ears, brain, and heart again. In a trance, I had the illusion that it was just a dream.