I wanted to get reacquainted with Baghdad a bit before I started posting observations that either overstated or understated the security gains here. After three weeks here this time (it had been a year since my last visit), I agree that it is a city transformed from the blood-drenched capital of a couple of years ago, at the height of the sectarian war.

Baghdad, of course, is still no cakewalk. Just check out McClatchy's daily rundown of violence; there are still violent attacks every day against both soldiers and civilians. As U.S. commanders have said, Iraq just has to reach "an acceptable level of violence." I've never been sure who gets to decide what that is. A senior military official I spoke to today said the fight now is concentrated along the "belts and borders," the rural areas around big cities and along the restive frontiers with Iran and Syria. (In that order, he stressed.)

The overall number of attacks has dropped dramatically and people can move about much more freely, so why does every Iraqi I meet still hold a pessimistic view of the future? Because they know the roots of the violence -- U.S. military occupation, sectarianism, ethnic strife, rampant corruption -- are still alive, and each of those problems is only expected to worsen in the run-up to the January general elections.

Even taking into account the deadly bombings that targeted government ministries last month, "the situation," as they say, is better than it's been in ages. It feels as if everyone is sucking up all the freedoms they can in fear of it suddenly changing.

In fact, it could've changed very quickly earlier this week, when a homemade bomb stuffed inside a hollowed-out religious book was discovered inside the women's section of the gold-domed Shiite shrine in the neighborhood of Kadhemiya. Relieved police told us the bomb was faulty and didn't detonate properly. This time. We've seen the savage aftermath of blown-up shrines (remember Samarra?) and it's nothing Iraqis would like to relive.

So, just in case this new and improved Baghdad doesn't endure, I'm joining my Iraqi friends and colleagues in exploring every inch of the city while we can. That means grilling fish along the Tigris, visiting favorite art galleries, dining after dark at co-workers' houses, and conducting interviews in formerly off-limits neighborhoods where unspeakable brutalities have occurred.

A long drive earlier this week took me through neighborhoods that even on my last visit in July 2008 were still dicey: Hurriyah, Tobchi, Yarmouk, Mansour. The vibrancy of these once-deserted streets was dizzying: watermelon vendors, signs for new restaurants, sheep traipsing through traffic, blast walls converted into ad space for car dealerships, three young men crammed onto one motorcyle, Iraqi soldiers hitching rides from checkpoint to checkpoint with complete strangers.

My friend and driver, Abu Feisal, pointed out a checkpoint manned by uniformed and professional Iraqi soldiers. Not so long ago, he said, "we didn't know who is at this checkpoint. Mahdi Army? Al Qaida?"

As if summing up Abu Feisal's hopes for his tired and traumatized city, a huge billboard advertising a French cigarette brand appeared as we turned a corner. The text read: "Liberte toujours."