I went to the U.S. Embassy here in Abu Dhabi today, and I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Would security be a bit more obvious? Would the contingent of Marines be visible? Would everyone be a little edgier?

The UAE is near the eastern edge of the Middle East, much of which has exploded in fury since a 17-minute trailer/film entitled Innocence of Muslims began to gain attention.

The U.S. ambassador to Libya and three other Americans were killed in Benghazi on the first night of demonstrations, which have spread from North Africa to the Middle East to Iran.

So, I wondered what the mood would be at the U.S. diplomatic outpost here in the UAE, and how they might have reacted.

To the casual observer, which would be me, it looked like business as usual.

I was processed by the same (apparently Filipino) private security people. It started outside the periphery. A guard asked for a copy of the sheet showing my appointment at the embassy. He asked for photo identification.

I was inside the mag-and-bag room next. Everything out of my pockets — and I had brought nearly nothing. My phone switched off. My Kindle handed over. My wallet out and my watch off. Shoes stayed on, however.

I passed through the machine, no problem. But was patted down even so. Same as usual. And I didn’t get back my phone or Kindle. Which I believe is standard (electronic devices), and by now I ought to remember to bring a book book.

I moved ahead, and doors were buzzed open for me. I again noted the “open field of fire” — the grassy area between the wall surrounding the compound and the first of the buildings.

I was buzzed in at the next building, which is where administrative stuff is done. Notarization, applications for visas. Passports.

If anything, the four or five Yanks behind the (presumably bullet-proof) glass seemed a bit more cheerful than I remembered. “How are you? … Great! … Could you fill in the phone number on Line 6? Thanks!”

I handed over my passport to get more pages inserted into it. You work in this part of the world, and you begin to pick up page-covering visas. Especially as a journalist. One from Uzbekistan. One from Hong Kong. One from El Salvador. The work visa from the UAE. I needed the extra pages for the next batch of stamps.

I was directed to the cash window to pay $82, and the same cheerful woman who had taken my application hustled over to the cash window and took my money. “That will be about an hour. Would you like a form to register to vote?”

And then I sat.

As usual, most of the people in the room appeared to be something other than U.S. citizens. They were applying for visas. Some people were getting visas/passports for children.

(Something you come to notice in this part of the world; it is always a good idea to have a Canadian or U.S. passport. Just in case. Emiratis don’t do this, but many of the expats here do, and especially the Arabs.)

Tension? None visible. Even as a TV in an upper corner of the waiting room, tuned to CNN, was showing footage of demonstrations in Egypt and Yemen … and just about anywhere in the region that wasn’t the UAE.

I have reminded friends, relatives and job candidates about this several times, but the UAE is very orderly. The notion of thousands or even hundreds of people massing in the streets and then marching on an embassy — or a grocery story … well, it doesn’t happen.

Crowds in the streets here mean someone has just won a big soccer game, or it’s National Day — the UAE equivalent of the Fourth of July.

It would not be a surprise, at all, if a high percentage of the Muslims here (which includes all the Emiratis, and most of the expats) were deeply offended at the film/trailer. But taking to the streets is not what happens here.

And maybe they were fairly confident of that, at the U.S. embassy. I am sure they were keenly aware of what had happened at Benghazi.

But Abu Dhabi is not Benghazi, and the UAE is not Libya.  It was a quiet day at the U.S. embassy, and we all appreciated that.