This weekend, I heard the sad news that Spiros Marinos had died. Anyone who has spent time working with Tim Gregory in the Corinthia, or on one the many projects related to the sites of Isthmia, Kenchreai, or the Eastern Korinthia Archaeological Survey, or has come through the village of Ancient Corinth and stayed at Rooms Marinos encountered Spiros. He was the patriarch and founder of Rooms Marinos and was a constant at the hotel and in the village for all of my decade and a half of time spent in the Corinthia. This weekend I thought about Spiros some and remembered some of the ways in which he made my life and time in the Corinthia better.
First, whenever we as archaeologist began to either feel bad about how many hours we were being asked to work or began to feel too good about our long days, we could look a Spiros as an instant corrective to our self pity or congratulations. It was a rare night that we headed away from the dinner table and Spiros was not still up and working. Each morning (including some inhumane hours kept by a particular archaeological survey), Spiros was up setting the table and bringing out the food. When the hotel was crowded with an archaeological team, a study tour, and various tourists, he appeared in constant motion. He worked long hours and whenever someone quips about the laziness of the Greeks (especially in light of the recent financial crisis), my mind turns to Spiros and the Marinos family.
I always appreciated his genuine hospitality offered mainly through simple gestured. There was nothing more pleasant than to be offered a piece of fruit on a hot afternoon or to be teased as I groggily attempted to navigate my breakfast after a late night. When I’d come down to the hotel from Athens in the winter months, I rarely paid for my room and I was invited to take meals with his family. These gestures did not necessarily happen often or regularly, but when they did occur it was impossible not to feel part of something.
Finally, and perhaps most academically, Spiros knew an immense amount about the Corinthian countryside. Some of my fondest memories involve him explaining (usually via Tim Gregory) the workings of some obscure piece of agricultural equipment we had stumbled across at a rural site. Or Spiros telling us how to get to some long neglected path through the mountains or to some obscure and half-forgotten archaeological site. It would be interesting to note how many dissertations produced by folks who spend significant time at Rooms Marinos thanked Spiros and his wife in their acknowledgements.
I haven’t made it back to the Corinthia for the last few summers, and hearing about Spiros passing made me incredibly nostalgic for the long hours in the Corinthian countryside, the mostly drinkable yellow colored Rooms Marinos wine, and the gentle hospitality of the Marinos family. He will be forever part of my memory of that place.