Madrid for The Night Owls: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

The roof opens daily; go at sunset, watch the Metropolis dome catch the last light, and see the Gran Vía switch on below.

Mushrooms stuffed with garlic and ham in a cellar of cave-like rooms on the Cava de San Miguel; the kitchen runs late and the queue is for the bar.

A cocktail bar since 1931 where Hemingway and Ava Gardner drank; arrive before midnight and take a seat, because after that the bar is standing room.

Brunch in the 1887 café on the Glorieta de Bilbao, open all day, in a room where writers have nursed the same coffee for a century.

An Egyptian temple on a hill, with the sunset behind it; the hill is the day's only sight, and the park stays open after the temple closes.

Flamenco from the tight room: guitar, voice and a dancer a metre from your table; the late shows are the ones locals go to.

Seven floors of club on the Calle de Atocha, each with its own music and door staff; the queue is shorter before one o'clock.

The flea market runs until three; arrive at half past twelve, when the stalls are open and the street has not yet reached Saturday night's condition.

Croquetas and cod, standing, at a counter that has served the same menu since 1860; pay at the till first and keep the ticket.

Jazz in the belle-époque room; the Sunday sets are the quieter ones, so the front tables are easier to get.

A cocktail bar with a menu of puns and bartenders who will make the drink to your mood; open to two on Sundays.

Hot churros at dawn for the night's last survivors and the first commuters; the rest of the city is still asleep.

A glass palace on a pond in the Retiro; the walk is flat and quiet, and nobody is awake enough to speak.

A fried-squid bocadillo by Atocha station, eaten at the counter, the correct end to a weekend of staying up late.