I was supposed to be home in the loving arms of my family tonight. Instead I'm in a Holiday Inn with one of my colleagues, taking a short nap before heading to the airport to try to get out of Tbilisi again. I could go into the problems we encountered this morning, boarding a plane only to find out that one engine wouldn't work and was sparking, arguing with the airline about how to get me home (No, I WILL NOT GO THROUGH ISTANBUL AND QATAR and spend more than 48 hours traveling alone), or the frustration of not being able to leave when I had planned, but I won't. Today wasn't a bad day, it was an incredible blessing instead.
When we realized that we weren't going to go home today (Lufthansa only has one flight in and one flight out per day), an entire day opened up to us--a day to explore without schedules, without obligatory meetings or stops. A day to do whatever we wanted to do. So, what did we decide to do? Go to the Turkish/Georgian baths!
We had seen them the first day we arrived but there was never enough time to get to them. They are ancient--as a matter of fact, the hot sulfur baths are supposedly the reason for the settling of Tbilisi, whose name is related to the Georgian word for warm (თბილი, pronounced t’bili). According to legend King Vakhtang Gorgasali (r. 447-502) went hunting in the heavily wooded region with a falcon. The king's falcon caught a pheasant, but both birds fell into a nearby hot spring and died. King Vakhtang was so impressed with the discovery that he decided to build a city on this location. (source: Wikipedia) This legend has since been discounted by archaeologists, but is still a fascinating story.
We arranged a taxi to take us to the baths, not really knowing what to expect. We went to one bath, where it was for couples only, certainly not for a mixed sex group of ten. So, we headed to old number five. (Apparently the Russians also liked number five...see below for what they labeled it) And, yes, for those old enough to remember Short Circuit, I did have a "Number Five is ALIVE!" moment. My colleagues started singing Mambo Number Five...
The baths, to begin with, are beautiful. They are hundreds of years old. They are intricate mosaics with a cold sulfur bath, warm sulfur bath, massage tables made of stone and a sauna. You alternate between the hot and cold baths, designed to open up your pores and skin. It really is a different feeling, putting yourself into alternating hot and cold water, the tingling like nothing I have ever known. We also had a two-part massage. One part was a giant loofaing of the body with an astringent. The Azerbajani woman scrubbed so hard on every part of the body that layers of dead skin just rolled off. The second part of the massage involved a soapy lotion massage that removed every bit of stress from the body (which we definitely needed after the day we had dealing with the airlines). Those women were truly miracle workers. I have never been so soft or so relaxed in my life!
Truly, baths are an ancient tradition, cited in historical texts, but we don't experience them today in our modern culture. We really should. They are also not for the very modest. We had separate men's and women's baths because the baths are experienced in total nudity, as is tradition.
There is something about being naked with people that you don't know well that adds a layer of bonding. It is easy to share deep secrets, to talk about the important things in life, to really be honest about who you are and who you hope to be. I think that the ancients were on to something with their public bath houses. They understood the need to have a place where life stopped for a bit, a place where there was nothing that needed doing, where people could have a chance to form a community, especially in gender-specific groups. Women and men don't have those spaces in our culture on a regular basis--as a matter of fact we have worked hard to eradicate them. I am beginning to wonder if that is a loss. In the baths, we were all equal, some of us with more wrinkles and life experiences, but all women sharing a common experience. The men also reported it as a similar experience, stating that the world would have fewer problems if we all just took some sulfur baths.
I already felt bonded with my colleagues, but this experience we shared was truly an experience that brings people together. We have friends and then we have "Turkish bath friends. " We all need more Turkish bath friends, people who have seen you at your most basic and love you anyway. People who will be there whenever you need them and who, when life gives you lemons, will sit with you and sip tea after your bath--with lemons, of course.
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