Putrajaya

Putrajaya is a deliberate creation, not a town that grew. By the early 1990s Kuala Lumpur's centre was congested and the federal government was scattered across dozens of rented buildings, so the administration decided to build a new seat on about 4,600 hectares of oil-palm and rubber plantation bought from Selangor. The site had been the Prang Besar estate, opened as a rubber plantation in 1921; the new city took its name from Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra, Malaysia's first prime minister, with jaya meaning success.

Work began in the mid-1990s under Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad, whose government also laid out the neighbouring technology township of Cyberjaya as part of the same Multimedia Super Corridor scheme. Two rivers were dammed to form a lake at the heart of the plan, the ground was raised into a series of numbered precincts, and a ceremonial boulevard was drawn from the convention centre to the prime minister's office. The first civil servants moved in during 1999, the year the Putra Mosque was completed, and the prime minister's department followed.

Most federal ministries had relocated by the early 2000s and the Federal Court and Court of Appeal followed in 2003, though parliament, the palace and the central bank stayed in Kuala Lumpur, which remains the national capital. In February 2001 Putrajaya was ceded by Selangor to become Malaysia's third federal territory, after Kuala Lumpur and Labuan. Building continued through the following two decades, adding courts, a second landmark mosque, further bridges and residential precincts, and the city has since been connected to the capital and the airport by rail.

The city's character comes from its purpose. Most working residents are public servants, and the rhythm of the place follows the government's: crowded car parks and full food courts on weekday mornings, a long midday break on Fridays for prayers, and near-silence at weekends and during festival holidays, when many residents return to home towns elsewhere.

Its population is overwhelmingly Malay and Muslim, a far higher share than in the Klang Valley around it, and public life reflects that. The two great mosques are civic landmarks as much as religious ones, Ramadan brings one of the region's largest bazaars, and official open houses at Hari Raya are held in the ceremonial squares. Dress is more formal and more covered than in the capital, and alcohol is much less visible.

Architecturally the city was planned as a statement: Islamic and Mughal motifs, domes, arches and monumental axes, arranged along a ceremonial boulevard in a manner drawn from planned capitals elsewhere. Opinions divide sharply, in Malaysia as much as among visitors, between admiration for its ambition and scepticism about a city built for cars and ceremonies. Its parks, lake sports and cycling routes have given it a second identity as a place for weekend recreation, and it hosts national events — parades, balloon flights, flower shows — that need space the capital does not have.

Something over 100,000 people live in Putrajaya, spread through numbered precincts of terraced houses, government quarters and apartment blocks, while many more commute in each day from Kuala Lumpur, Cyberjaya, Bangi and Kajang. It is among the youngest and most planned populations in the country, with schools, clinics, mosques and a local shopping row built into each precinct.

The economy is the federal government, plus the services that support it: contractors, security, cleaning, catering, the courts, and the hotels and convention business. Cyberjaya's offices and data centres next door provide private-sector work, and the airport corridor is close. Household incomes are comparatively high, and most families own at least one car.

The day begins early, with prayers and a school run before the heat, and the offices empty by late afternoon. Evenings are for the food courts, the malls, the lakeside promenade and the parks, where the cooler hours bring out joggers, cyclists and families. Common complaints are the distances, the dependence on cars, the sleepiness of weekends, and rents that rise as more people move out from the capital.

Putrajaya's food is Malay first. The staple of the working day is nasi campur — rice with a choice of curries, fried fish, vegetables and sambal, priced by what is taken — eaten at precinct food courts known as medan selera. Breakfast is nasi lemak wrapped in banana leaf, roti canai with dhal, or a bowl of laksa, usually with kopi or teh tarik pulled between two pots.

Ikan bakar, fish or squid split, coated in spice paste and grilled over charcoal, is a local standby, served with rice, ulam — raw herbs and leaves — and sambal belacan. Ayam percik, chicken grilled with a coconut and chilli glaze, and satay from stalls that set up in the evening are similarly common, and the city's Indian-Muslim mamak shops supply nasi kandar, mee goreng and late-night tea in the precincts where they exist.

Because the city is new, it has no dish of its own and few long-established institutions; food is found in malls, hotel restaurants, precinct hawker centres and the lakeside cafés rather than in old shophouses. The exception is the fasting month, when the Ramadan bazaar sets out rows of stalls selling murtabak, grilled meats, kuih in bright colours and sweet drinks such as air bandung and sugarcane juice, and draws crowds from well beyond the city.