Today, we ventured out to Kerbala, the holiest shrine in Shi'a Islam, the place where Imam Hussein was killed in battle at the end of the 7th century.
It's about an hour's drive south of Baghdad, past the salt flats around the Euphrates river, through the dusty villages and date palm plantations.
We saw a few scattered anti-aircraft guns, and two platoons of soldiers training at the side of the road, but little outward sign that the road to Baghdad has been fortified to withstand attack.
The Iraqis are either trusting in God, or preparing defence in some invisible way.
For the past two days, pilgrims have gone to Kerbala to mark Ashura, the day of Hussein's death, but the government took us there to see a patriotic demonstration.
Along the main street leading to the shrines, a professional banner painter had been given a scrap of paper with three slogans in English which he was expertly copying in red paint onto white cloth stretched across a wooden frame: "Lead on Saddam - Quitting is no option", "Saddam - our choice" and "Saddam - Pride in Triumph".
He understood no English, but I'm sure he got the message (which was, of course, for our benefit. Who else in Kerbala on a Saturday morning needs banners in English?)
As the crowd gathered, we drank tea on the pavement opposite the governor's office where the scribes sit under dusty umbrellas.
The illiterate, or those who just can't find their way through the system, come with forms to be filled, or requests for licences.
People mingled and chatted, but no-one wanted to engage with us on the pressing issues of the day: when will the war start, and will there be an uprising of Shi'as in Kerbala as there was after the Gulf War in 1991?
A thousand or more people - women clad head to toe in black, old men in traditional kuffiyeh headscarves, young men in leather jackets - assembled to chant the normal slogans.
"With my blood and my spirit, I redeem you, oh Saddam."
At the front of each wave of people, men in green Ba'ath party uniforms led the chanting, but it died down whenever they paused for breath.
The mood was subdued, and many people chatted rather than chanted as they walked along.
The shrine guardians in their green-wrapped maroon fezes sat on the ground resting against the railings, their swords propped up beside them, watching the scene. It was a beautiful, clear sunny day.
A few old men waved kalashnikovs aloft and shouted as they danced in the circle, but they gave up pretty quickly when the cameras were turned away.
People are tired. They have a lot on their minds. The time for public display is over - what matters now is survival.
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