Ivy

Ivy leaves the Jordaan with her hair pinned back and a room number saved in her phone, and the lift up to your floor is the last stretch of her journey.

Ask for Ivy Write to the desk What a first message carries

Ivy, massage therapist, photographed indoors

Airport hotels are built for people who will not remember them, and Ivy works against that on purpose: the thermostat goes down a degree, the desk lamp stays on, the ceiling light goes off. She is twenty-three and speaks Ukrainian, Russian and English, so a guest in transit rarely has to hunt for words. From the canals of the Jordaan the trip out to Schiphol is planned in advance, its duration settled before the hour itself. Tantra and slow oil work are what she would rather bring into a room with sealed windows, where the only sound left is the air vent.

Ivy decides which bookings she takes and may decline any of them; she sets the limits for what a session includes, says what they are, and may end a visit at any point, as the terms set out.