It was the perfect setup to hit the road again. With Flatmate having both sets of keys and travelling on business, I returned to London locked out of the flat. For the first few days, I crashed at my friends’ places on the West side. But for the weekend, I looked at other options and found cheap last minute tickets to Madrid, home of the party people.

On my first night, I figured that staying at a hostel would be a good way to meet people. No luck. The couple places I tried were full. So I did what I think Madrileños would do: I stored my bags at the hotel I booked for Sunday (the next day the girl at the reception gave me a disapproving look) and went to party until the noon check-in time.

For the first 4 hours, from 10pm to 2am, I wandered around the neighbourhoods near Gran Via, the city’s major street, and scouting discotecas (clubs) listed on a weekly magazine. When my feet relented, I went to The Room at Stella’s without having a real clue what type of place it was. Boy did I luck out.

It was the kind of club I’d go if I lived in Madrid, with unpretentious revellers in their 30s dancing all night to electro, techno house. All it was missing was a bit of kick or a darker sound weaved into the electro beat, as they do so well in Germany.

The hardest part of the “night” was surviving the 8am until noon lull. With city officials curbing late night excesses, after-hour parties usually don’t start until late in the morning or in the afternoon. To kill time, I went all the way north to the Chamartin train station (the other alternative was the airport, which is cheap and easy to get to), had some churros, and dozed off for maybe 30 minutes.

On Sunday, after a good five hours of sleep, I went all the way to the ‘burbs to Fabrik, which hosted an “after “called GOA that runs from 2pm until midnight. After spending almost an hour in the metro, I got off the Fuenlabrada Central station and the inevitable occured. There were no taxis in sight. I guess I should’ve taken a cab from the city, but with that kind of money I could’ve printed at least 3 T-shirts.

Anyway, I’m glad the way things turned out. The party I went to instead was amazing, and played the electro sound that keeps you going all night.

I arrived at Maxime, an underground-chic club adjacent to the Puerta de Toledo station, at around 8pm to a packed gay/mixed crowd (mid-20s to mid-40s) strutting non-stop their dance moves and in some cases their beefy bodies. The room erupted when the DJ played Wally Lopez’s Strike Me Down and Rene Amesz and Peter Gelderblom’s remix of Waiting For by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

When the party ended at 1am, I hopped on the train back to the city centre and, since it was on the way to the hotel, took a peek at Bash, which hosts a popular night on Sunday. From the few minutes I was there, the party on Sunday night seemed like a tamer and younger version of Maxime (but still packed). It probably gets better later at night since Madrileños go clubbing starting at 2am but at that point I was ready to grab some lunch - crisps and a chocolate bar - the only food I could find at that time.

We’ll see if la movida also runs in full gear on a Monday night.