People's president spurns the trappings of power

Damascus might be gripped by rumours of a recent assassination attempt on Bashar Al Assad, but there is no evidence of anxiety in the discreet villa he uses as his private office.

The young Syrian president has abandoned his father's vast presidential palace on the hill in favour of something far smaller, reached through a gap in the conifers lining the road.

A steel barrier manned by a single, apparently unarmed guard is the only obstacle before the courtyard and double doors where Bashar is waiting. At 6 feet 5 inches, he fills the entrance.

The efficiency of the Syrian police state is apparent: there are no guards or guns in sight, merely a few secretaries. He apologises for using an interpreter but his English, which he deploys in asides, is accented but easy.

The capture of Saddam Hussain and the renunciation by Muammar Gaddafi of weapons of mass destruction have catapulted him to the top of Washington's target list of Arab leaders.

But for a man under fire, Bashar seems at ease. After the interview, he says he wants to find more ways of addressing the public in the west to make the case for fair treatment.

Now 38, he succeeded his father in 2000, but became president by accident. He was recalled to Syria in 1994 after the death of the heir apparent, his brother Basil, in a car crash. He was forced to abandon the quiet life of an ophthalmologist studying in London to embark on a course in Syrian politics at his father's side.

Now that he is in charge, he has tried to make life as the leader of one of the Middle East's most stable and most ruthless regimes as low-key as possible.

His English-born wife Asma Akhras, a banker brought up in Acton, West London, contributes to his image as a young, modern leader interested in reform rather than the trappings of power.

Bemused Syrians exchange stories about the president's modesty - recently he drove his car into a petrol station and filled it up himself, surrounded by attendants. He is also known to enjoy evenings in Damascus restaurants with friends and small children - but no bodyguards and admits that his attempts to live an ordinary life have some drawbacks.

"In restaurants, I never get to eat because everyone wants to shake my hand and present me with letters," he says. "And my son gets jealous that no one is speaking to him."

The worst-kept secret in Damascus is that the president and his family live in town rather than in the palace. The spot is well-known because guards stationed outside now all wear suits and concealed weapons - on his orders - and have been told to be polite to passers-by.