East of the sun and west of the moon, there lies an island off the coast of Nicaragua known by few. It is named Little Corn Island. On Little Corn, population 750, is a small resort named “Casa Iguana,” or Iguana House. There, one will find no cars, no jet skis, no phones, no movie stars, no cocktail umbrellas and, to quote their brochure, “no worries.”

John Wiaduck, the youngest of the six Wiaduck siblings, managed the resort for nearly two years, living the good life in an island paradise 45 miles off the southeastern shores of Nicaragua. Wiaduck arrived home to visit his parents, Jack and Joan Wiaduck, in time for the Fourth of July celebration.

John grew up in Riverside, but if father Jack expected him to follow in his footsteps and become a banker or a politician or to enter the real estate business with his mother, they could not have been further off.

“I graduated from the University of Colorado with a degree in hotel management and spent 13 years working in the Rocky Mountains,” he said.

If you travel to the beautiful Rockies, you might be surprised that your waiter might has a Ph.D. and can spend his life in such breathtaking surroundings.

John’s training, along with an outgoing personality, allows him to find work almost anywhere the sun shines or the snow falls.

The lure of the South Seas called John to find the tropical island paradise of Little Corn Island.

“You cannot fly into Little Corn. First you take a plane to Nicaragua, then go to Big Corn Island, then take a boat over choppy waters to Little Corn.”

Wiaduck described the remoteness of Little Corn Island and the Casa Iguana resort.

“Electricity is provided by a sophisticated solar energy system and wind-powered generators. Drinking water is desalinated sea water, with rain water catchers for all other water supplies. Casa Iguana is a self-sustaining entity. Their motto is ‘reduce-reuse-recycle.’ Meals are served in the lodge, where tables are set with fruits and vegetables from the resort’s gardens. We are able to eat (and catch) many types of fish, including conch and barracuda. Lobster dinners are about $10 per person, and the chef is a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, New York.”

Little Corn Island has one of the best snorkeling reefs in the Caribbean. The “Dive Little Corn” on the leeward side of the island takes two trips a day, plus a night dive.

After a trip back to Colorado to attend Riversider Dan Bolda’s wedding, Wiaduck is heading back to the Caribbean, this time to the islands around St. Thomas and St. John, where he plans to earn his Deep Sea Diving Certificate.

For information on Casa Iguana or Little Corn Island, go to www.casaiguana.net.

Hillmer back from Arizona

Another former Riversider has returned home, this time to cool off. Surprising as it seems on these hot and humid days, there are places that are more uncomfortable than we are.

Midwesterners, with our green lawns and shade trees, have been heard to complain, “It’s not the heat; it’s the humidity.” Melinda Hillmer, who has lived in Tucson for the past 30 years, joins other Arizona residents who spend summers in that state and complain, “It’s the heat, not the humidity.”

Hillmer shares a few of her ways to keep cool in the arid Southwest, where humidity can be welcome compared to a stiffling dry heat. She is an environmentalist and prefers not to have air conditioning in her home. She does, however, have a “swamp cooler.”

“A swamp cooler looks like a big four-legged spider on the top of the house,” she explains.

When the temperature reaches 90 degrees, she starts the swamp cooler, which cools by adding humidity to the house. Without humidity, when the temperature goes above 100 degrees, it becomes hard to breathe because the air is so dry. The swamp cooler helps solve that problem by putting humidity into the air.

“I take a lot of showers,” Hillmer says. “There is no need to heat the water, as it is normally tepid — just fine for a cooling shower. Another trick is to put ice cubes in a scarf, tie it around your neck, and as it melts, the water runs into your shirt, cooling as it evaporates.”

Hillmer is happy to see people constructing hay-bale houses in Tucson. The bales of straw (or hay) are stacked up to form the walls, then covered with adobe. The thick walls keep out the heat. Another of her ideas is hanging freshly washed laundry in the yard to dry.

“I don’t even have a dryer. By the time I hang the last items on the line, the first are dry and can be taken down.”

She confessed that when it gets really hot, she will take advantage of public places with air conditioning.

“We often eat at fancy hotels and great restaurants, and I also spend time at the public library.”

Not all of Hillmer’s time is spent evading the heat. A 1970 graduate of Riverside Brookfield High School, she has been a teacher at Khalsa Montessori school for 21 years.

“I teach the children to become civilized human beings and independent self-directed thinkers,” she explained in her softly modulated voice. “The children, ages 3, 4 and 5, help each other and teach the younger ones if their actions are inappropriate.”

She fled to Riverside because the “monsoons” are now on, and the swamp cooler is of no value. Like many Tucson summer residents, she rises at 3 or 4 in the morning to go golfing or do their work before the heat sets in. Tanning is no longer in fashion, except for the tourists who wish to return home with a tan and flirt with cancer and a sun-dried complexion.

Khalsa Montessori does have air conditioning, but Hillmer needed time away from teaching.

“I’ll be back at work in August,” she promised.