Modern-day commercial air travel is (at least in turns and frequently in combination) Astounding, Exasperating, Intoxicating, Over-complicated, Uncomfortable, and sometimes Yucky.

Nonetheless, it is beyond doubt our most reliable bridge between the mundane and el mundo.

As I write these words, I am traversing that metaphoric bridge aboard Iberia Flight 6166 and anticipating a splendid adventure in Spain. (I more comfortable than those circumstances would normally dictate. Because of the need to place passenger seats adjacent to the airliner's broad, accommodating doors, my seat is endowed with more leg room than even a typical business class berth.)

Twenty-five rows behind me sit Bob and Shawn, equally eager and elated to be aloft above the Atlantic. (Before take-off, Toby, the final member of our traveling troop, texted that he is already leisurely dining al fresco in Seville.) Except for a brief flight delay, our vacation has begun without a hitch. We will arrive in Madrid a mere 15 minutes behind schedule.

My seatmate, in striking contrast, is aboard this flight following a twenty-four hour delay. Yesterday, Iberia Flight 6166 never left the ground. They boarded. They taxied. But that particular plane on that particular day was as good at flying as the proverbial lead balloon. So back to the gate they went.

Said nameless seatmate is enduring this series of systemic snafus with far greater grace than I would muster, and I applaud him for it. But his experience illustrates that, when your plans and your plane lock horns, the plane always has the upper hand. And in those moments, a bit of air travel's shimmer seems to tarnish.

But in the end, the time spent tangling with airline technology seems worth it when you emerge at the desired destination. And for us that destination is sunny southern Spain.

No doubt the four of us will face moments where our own plans will run amok, but perhaps those times fit into our conversation with the planet. Humans live far, far apart, and geography is not always eager to help us become friends. Perhaps we have become spoiled by the modern world and thus no longer expect hopping from one part of the globe to another to be a hassle. Inevitably experience invites us to readjust these expectations.

So such foibles of travel are a reality check. The help prevent us from taking for granted the wondrous fact that, in the 21st century, for a few hundred expendable dollars and within a few swift hours, we manage to circumvent nature and relocate ourselves Point A to Point Z on the map, with only a passing glance at the intervening land- (or sea-) scape.

So tomorrow, after an in-flight snooze and another short flight, we will become acquainted with the first of several Spanish destinations: Seville. Here’s to hoping that I remember how far distant it is from my normal life.

(Later update: Just like some people, apparently some Iberian jets are reluctant to fly. Soon after we boarded the plane for the second leg of our journey from Madrid to Seville, the ground crew determined that the aircraft was not air-worthy. Luckily, they just happened to have a spare plane lying about, and so Toby had to wait for us at the Seville airport only a couple of additional hours. Technology is wonderful, but it never hurts to have a spare plane on hand.)