On a recent fall morning, I pull up to a set of wide tile domes in the old part of Tbilisi, Georgia, and suddenly wrinkle my nose: The air is sodden with an egg-like smell that creeps its way into my nostrils. Turns out, this piercing scent is common around Tbilisi, permeating from the historically famed sulfur bath built on top of hot springs, coating sections of the city with whiffs of omelette. Noxious fumes aside, I am curious with an hour to kill—and I look forward to spending it by basking in a hot pool of yolky elements. After all, I have an exhaustive case of jet lag, having just arrived in the capital after an overnight flight from New York City, and I’ve heard endless stories about the magical healing powers of the B.C. tradition.