Photo by McClatchy Newspapers The lighthouse on Mount Desert Rock in Maine is one of the attractions worth checking out during a cabin stay.

What if my husband and I could rent a place by the week instead? I turned to the classified section of my college alumni magazine and started perusing. $3,500 a week in Nantucket. $1,000 a night in San Jose del Cabo, Mexico. Nope, and nope.

Then I saw it: "Maine: Bar Harbor-Ellsworth area. Lakefront cottage, loons, eagles, 2 kayaks, canoe. $700 weekly."

Done. I briefly checked out the online photos of the cottage and sent an e-mail to the owner, who then requested a deposit.

We were "in."

But the question was, "in what?" Like Lewis and Clark boldly setting off to the great American West in the early 19th century, we started our New England adventure into the unknown. We wondered, "What do you get for $700 a week?" Perhaps we should have done a little more research.

"Well, it's not the worst place I've ever stayed in," my husband, David, proclaims in what I imagine he thinks is an encouraging tone as we open the door to the cottage on a Sunday afternoon. The last half-hour of our drive has been a little tense, and we are tired.

We had arrived in Ellsworth, the nearest town to the cottage, in midafternoon and headed directly to a wine and specialty-food shop I'd read about in a guidebook. We stocked up on everything we'd want for breakfasts: fresh bread, organic fruits, yogurt, milk and coffee. I bought organic pasta, fresh tomatoes and basil and figured I'd make one of our favorite pasta dishes that night in the cottage. Look, we were already saving money by planning non-restaurant meals.

But the bill at the small shop came to about $100 for one bag's worth of stuff. And we still needed additional, more proletariat items like paper towels. We asked if there was a big grocery store in town, and it turned out there were two, just a little farther down the road.

As we walked down the aisles of the bigger store, we realized we'd already made mistake No. 1. We could have saved a lot of money by shopping for everything here instead. I started a mental list of Things We Should Have Done.

Things We Should Have Done No. 1: Ask the landlord about local stores before you go.

Armed with our groceries, we got in the car and immediately discovered:

Things We Should Have Done No. 2: If you are driving on country roads, study the landlord's directions in advance and ask questions.

For example, a good direction would be "Drive 6.5 miles and turn right on Sugar Hill Road." A less-than-helpful direction would be "Follow Route 200 through the center of Eastbrook (don't blink or you'll miss it!). This is where Route 200 veers left. Do not do this! Bear right after the Grange Hall, and follow to the top of the hill."

You may notice no distance is given in the latter directions. Maps were of little help because our landlord forgot to include street names. Our GPS was useless because "she" didn't recognize the address given for the cottage.

This is where things got tense.

As the light faded, we kept our eyes glued for a Grange Hall. The thing is, we weren't sure what a Grange Hall was, and we had no idea how far down Route 200 to expect it. After about two miles, David decided that we must have missed it, and so we drove back to the start of the road, where we saw a building that had a flag in front. "I think we should go right here," he said, indicating a driveway with a group of mailboxes.

"I don't think so," I said. "I think we should just give it time."

We did, eventually, find Grange Hall, veered right, and followed the rest of the mileage-free directions, miraculously, to a mailbox on which a sign was taped bearing our names.

Things We Should Have Done, No. 3: Ask for interior photos of the place you're renting.

When I walk into the cottage, I realize that all the photos I've seen of it have been of the exterior. Clearly, there was a reason this information had been withheld.

Picture shabby-chic, without the chic. Dirty tan carpet is covered with worn braided rugs. An old couch sags against the wall. None of the walls is finished out, so you can see the plumbing lines and electrical cords. A small water heater takes up most of the space in the bathroom. The shower is outside, around the back of the cabin -- two metal walls, a shower head and a curtain. The mattress on the queen-size bed is an invitation to a backache.

And it is cold.

So very cold.

We've brought towels and blankets, as instructed, but pitying us, the landlords have left a set of flannel sheets. There are space heaters in the cabin, ancient things that didn't seem to do much except mock our chill.

As I crawl into bed that night wearing flannel pajamas, wool socks and a down vest, I snuggle under the sheets. They have a peculiar wet-dog smell that I realize is mothballs.

"How do these people live up here all summer?" I wonder.

The next day dawns bright and sunny. We had purchased tickets online for a whale-watching expedition that afternoon, setting out from Bar Harbor. It takes about an hour to get to Bar Harbor. From Ellsworth. We take Route 3, a tedious road lined with motels and tourist traps, made more tedious by road workers fixing it up.

We arrive frantic and late and hungry. They say there will be lunch available on board, but the little restaurant has only soggy, microwaved pizzas, which, of course, we scarf down.

Things We Should Have Done No. 4: Allow plenty of time for driving in places you've never been before.

The boat is big and moves quickly out to sea. A perky young guide points out the islands we pass and the shoreline of Acadia National Park's Mount Desert Island.

She sees a manx whale, she said, and the boat stops, but we don't see it. About 25 miles out, we come to Mount Desert Rock, a treeless small island that serves as a marine research station. The island boasts a lighthouse, a dilapidated old house and a generator that sometimes delivers electricity. And yet, it is starkly beautiful. Two different kinds of seals sun themselves on one end of the rock, while others bob up and down in the sea. The sea is all kinds of deep blues, wild and wavy, underneath a sun-saturated blue sky.

Back in town, we walk through the small village of Bar Harbor, which seems to be mostly filled with touristy T-shirt shops and restaurants. We have dinner at Side Street Cafe, a pretty little place featuring local, organic food.

That night, we are in bed by 8:30. We have definitely dialed it down. We watch a movie on our DVD player, but fall asleep by 9. The next morning David declares, "The fresh air is killing us."

I think about something our landlady said the night we arrived as we shared a glass of wine on the porch of her next-door cottage: "There's so much to do here, it would take a whole lifetime."

At the time, I had thought she was clearly insane, but already I can see her point. I look around the cabin, thinking it would be relaxing to spend a whole summer here. I've conquered my fear of the outdoor shower and discovered that it is primitive but the water is hot and the view can't be beat.

I embrace the cottage and its ruggedness. No phone. No cell service. No TV. Not a single luxury. And what a luxury that turns out to be.