Club Review: Sisyphos


No photographs are allowed at Sisyphos, therefore I can only trust my red stamped wrist that I was in fact at this club, in this city, and on this continent. Because at Sisyphos, a former dog-food factory turned clubbing wonderland, the only thing that reminded me that I was still on this planet was the long line for the bathroom.  

Otherwise, I was occupying a different cosmos.

The outdoor area of Sisyphos is like a twisted Christmas village, complete with food stands, a man-made lagoon and endless orbs of spinning, colored light. Here you can find pretty strangers strewn across the sandy floor, chatting, regrouping and even sleeping. If at some point you want to leave this Candyland and enter a sweet sort of Hell, have no fear. The dance floor awaits.

To get to the largest dance floor at Sisyphos (there are a total of four) one must first pass through a dark stone tunnel. This tunnel-time-machine will then lead you into a room of shameless 70’s decadence. Here, nestled like a precious egg in the middle of a completely red velvet room, is the largest disco ball you will ever see. Let its glistening underbelly bless you. Put some earplugs in. Move forward and get ready to dance.

Good techno destroys time and inhibitions, but to truly understand its appeal you must have it injected into your bloodstream by the dedicated DJS and impeccable sound systems that Berlin is famous for.

Eventually, however, we must all shed our techno-demon skin and transform back into mere mortals. When you ascend from the electronic underworld at 7 A.M, grab a cup of coffee and slice of pizza at the bar, and emerge into the city sunrise. 

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