Relish the sea at starstruck Provincetown inn

The past is present in many ways at The Masthead. It has long catered to an elite clientele; our two-bedroom cottage -- one of 21 cottages, apartments, and motel rooms -- is named for Helena Rubinstein, who frequented here. At $252 a night, a cosmetic magnate's fortune would still come in handy, and even at that price, we got use of only the first floor, which became clear when we heard someone padding around above our ceiling. But the same digs would have run us $388 before Labor Day; in fairness, more economical rooms are available.

Besides, that price bought us a perch literally atop the ocean, which at high tide rushed under the pier on which our porch rested. Our door opened to an expansive view of the Atlantic, stretched like a gargantuan smile between the dimples of the periphery beaches. The waves slapping the beach and the salt air almost fooled us into believing we'd come for summer's overture rather than its curtain call.

Our cottage's agreeably large living room came with a TV screen almost as wide as the oriental rug on the floor. The TV blocked the fireplace, which was just as well, since fire regulations don't allow for its use. Radiators heat the cottage during the winter .

Nautical accoutrements -- a ship's wheel, a large model schooner in a plastic case over the doorway -- enhanced the alternating white walls and wood paneling. A dining area behind the living room led to a kitchenette, the only space that felt a little cramped, though it's a godsend for the budget-conscious wanting to dine in occasionally. The Masthead is a few blocks from several eating places and a 10-minute walk from Provincetown's restaurant-filled center.