If you walk through the Abanotubani district of Old Tbilisi, the first thing you notice is not the architecture, but the air. It carries a heavy, unmistakable scent of sulfur, a pungent aroma that many travelers initially liken to “rotten eggs.” However, for John Matthews, the protagonist of An American in Tbilisi, this scent would eventually become the fragrance of rebirth.
John arrived in Georgia’s capital as a man burdened. He carried the heavy coat of New Jersey winters and the even heavier weight of grief following the loss of his wife, Celia. He was tightly wound, controlled, and deeply guarded. That was, until he met the Mekise.
The “Existential Crisis” Under the Brick Domes
In his manuscript, John describes standing beneath the iconic turquoise tiles of the Orbeliani Bathhouse, feeling a wave of what he called an “existential crisis.” At the urging of his friend and cultural guide, Anna, he had agreed to a traditional Georgian scrub.
The experience of a Georgian bath is not the hushed, candle-lit spa experience one might find in a Western hotel. It is visceral. It is ancient. As John lay on a warm stone slab in a room filled with thick, mineral-rich steam, he was approached by a mekise (a traditional masseur) wielding a kisa, a rough, handmade scrubbing mitt.
“For a moment,” John writes, “as the layers of dead skin were vigorously sloughed away, I felt entirely exposed. It was not just physical; it was the realization that I had no control over this process. I was just a body on a stone, being scrubbed into a new existence.” This “crisis” was the necessary breaking point for a man who had spent years trying to hold everything together.
Anna’s Wisdom: The True Tbilisi
John’s hesitation to visit the baths was met with a firm declaration from Anna. “You have not truly been to Tbilisi until you have been to the baths,” she told him. To Anna, and to generations of Georgians, the sulfur springs are the literal and figurative heart of the city. Legend has it that King Vakhtang Gorgasali founded Tbilisi on this very spot in the 5th century after his hunting falcon fell into the hot springs.
Anna’s wisdom went beyond history. She knew that John needed more than a sightseeing tour; he needed a ritual. The baths are a place where social hierarchies dissolve. In the steam, everyone is equal. For John, the baths represented the ultimate immersion into Georgian life. It was here that he stopped being a spectator of the culture and started being a participant in its oldest tradition.
Letting Go of Control and “Simply Being”
The physical rejuvenation of the sulfur water naturally heated at temperatures between 38°C and 40°C is well-documented for its benefits to the skin and joints. However, for John, the transformation was emotional.
As he transitioned from the hot sulfur pool to a bracing cold plunge, he experienced a phenomenon he called “the great quiet.” In the intensity of the heat and the shock of the cold, the constant chatter of his anxious mind, the “what-ifs” and the “if-onlys” regarding his past simply vanished.
He learned the lesson of “simply being.” In the baths, you cannot rush. You cannot check your phone. You cannot perform. You can only breathe in the mineral-heavy air and allow the water to do its work. This surrender was the first time since Celia’s passing that John felt he did not have to carry the world on his shoulders. He was, for an hour, just a man in the water.
From “Rotten Eggs” to a New Person
The irony of the sulfur baths is the transition. You enter a building that smells, frankly, like a chemistry experiment gone wrong. You are scrubbed until your skin is pink and raw. You are dunked in water that feels too hot and then water that feels too cold.
Yet, when John stepped back out into the cool evening air of the Sololaki district, the smell of “rotten eggs” had vanished, replaced by a sense of crystalline clarity. “I felt lighter,” he noted in his manuscript. “The skin was new, yes, but the mind felt scrubbed clean as well.”
He realized that the sulfur was not a stench to be avoided; it was the smell of the earth’s own healing power. He walked back to his apartment not as a grieving widower from New Jersey, but as a resident of Tbilisi, his footsteps lighter on the ancient cobblestones.
The Power of the Ritual
John’s journey through the steam and sulfur is a powerful reminder of the importance of self-care rituals, especially during times of personal transition. When we lose our way, or when our identity is fractured by life’s changes, we often try to “think” our way back to health.
But sometimes, healing requires a physical ritual. It requires us to step into the “steam,” to let go of our control, and to allow ourselves to be “scrubbed” by new experiences.
