Outcall, or who goes out into the weather
Outcall means the therapist makes the journey to the room you are already in, so nobody has to send you back out into whatever the evening is doing.
Every booking written here is an outcall, which settles one question before any other gets asked: whose coat gets wet. Yours stays on its hook. She travels to the address written into the booking thread, climbs whatever stairs the building has, and knocks.
There is no address to come to
The house keeps no rooms of its own anywhere in the city. No studio above a shop, no flat held for the purpose, nothing a visitor could be given the postcode of on a February night. That absence is deliberate rather than a gap in the arrangement. Crossing an unfamiliar city in sideways rain, then crossing it back again afterwards, is the part of an evening most likely to sour, and working outcall only removes it from the plan altogether.
One figure for the centre
Anywhere in central Amsterdam the same number applies: forty to sixty minutes from the hour being confirmed to the sound at your door. Frost does not stretch it and a mild spring evening does not shorten it, because the distances involved are small and the clock starts when she is ready to move rather than when the streets clear. A room at Schiphol or at an airport hotel falls outside that figure entirely and is put together separately, with the length of the drive agreed with you before an hour is held. Nothing beyond Amsterdam and those airport hotels is reached, in any season.
What it asks of you
Not much, and all of it fits in one message. The address, carrying the floor and the room or apartment number. A phone left face up and charged. A line about the entrance if the street door locks itself after a certain hour. And, in the cold half of the year, heating switched on early enough to make a difference, which warm room goes into properly. The booking page lists what the first message should carry.