In 1992, Annette Herfkens was living the kind of life most people only dream of. A successful Wall Street trader with a promising career, she had everything she thought she wanted — love, stability, and a future brimming with possibilities. Originally from the Netherlands, Annette was thriving in the fast-paced world of finance while maintaining a long-term relationship with William, the man she had loved for over thirteen years. Life, it seemed, was beautifully in balance. But in a single, devastating moment, everything changed.
The couple decided to take a romantic vacation in Vietnam, a long-overdue reunion after months apart. William, who worked for the Internationale Nederlanden Bank in Vietnam, planned a quiet getaway for the two of them — a break from their demanding lives. Their itinerary was simple: a few days in bustling Ho Chi Minh City followed by a peaceful escape to the beaches of Nha Trang. The plan was perfect. The flight was not.
On November 14, 1992, Annette boarded Vietnam Airlines Flight 474 with a gnawing sense of unease. The plane — an old Soviet Yakovlev Yak-40 — felt claustrophobic and unstable. As a lifelong claustrophobe, she already hated flying, but William comforted her with a small lie, assuring her it was a quick 20-minute trip. As the flight stretched on and the turbulence worsened, panic began to rise in the cabin. Then came the drop — the moment that shattered her world forever.
The plane crashed deep into the Vietnamese jungle. When Annette opened her eyes, the silence was deafening. The wreckage was all around her. Her fiancé, still strapped to his seat, was gone. Her body was broken — her hip shattered, her lung collapsed, her leg mangled — but she was alive. And in that moment of horror, she made a choice: she would fight to survive.
Despite unimaginable pain, Annette dragged herself from the twisted wreckage and began her desperate struggle to stay alive. Around her, the cries of other survivors echoed through the trees, but as the days passed, those voices faded one by one. She became the last living soul in the jungle.
Her body screamed in agony, but her mind grew sharper. Using yoga breathing techniques, she calmed her panic and managed her pain. With remarkable ingenuity, she used insulation from the plane’s wings to collect rainwater, rationing tiny sips every few hours. Her elbows tore open from the effort, leaving scars that would later require skin grafts. Still, she kept going.
Meanwhile, the world had already assumed she was dead. Her obituary was published. Her employer sent condolences. But one man refused to give up hope — her colleague and friend, Jaime Lupa. He promised her father that he would bring her home, no matter what.
On the eighth day, rescue finally came. A Vietnamese police team searching for bodies stumbled upon something they didn’t expect — Annette, alive. Too weak to walk, she was carried down the mountain on a makeshift stretcher, barely conscious but still breathing. Against all odds, she had survived.
Her return home was both triumphant and heartbreaking. She attended William’s funeral in December, still in a wheelchair, mourning the man she had lost. Yet by February, she was back at work, her resilience astonishing everyone around her. But healing wasn’t just physical — it was emotional, spiritual, and deeply personal.
Over time, life offered Annette new chapters. She eventually married Jaime, the man who had helped save her, and together they had two children, Joosje and Max. Though the marriage didn’t last, she built a life filled with meaning and purpose, guided by a powerful new philosophy: acceptance.
Annette once said, “If you accept what’s not there, you can finally see what is.” She learned to stop mourning what she lost — William, the beach, the life she imagined — and instead see the beauty that remained. The jungle that nearly killed her became a symbol of survival, not destruction.
In her memoir Turbulence: A True Story of Survival, Annette reflects on how her upbringing shaped her ability to endure. As the youngest child in a loving but independent household, she learned early to rely on herself. She also believes her undiagnosed ADHD helped — that her restless mind, once a challenge, became a creative force that fueled her survival.
Years later, when her son Max was diagnosed with autism, she applied the same mindset. Instead of focusing on what was missing, she built a world that worked for him. She taught him how to navigate social situations safely, even taking him to the police station for practice — a necessity, she said, especially for black autistic children in today’s world.
Every year, on the anniversary of her rescue, Annette honors her survival with a ritual — sipping water to remember the rain that kept her alive and buying herself a small gift. The trauma still lingers; the smell of certain Vietnamese dishes can send her spiraling back into the jungle. But she carries it with grace, transforming pain into wisdom.
When Hollywood came calling, eager to dramatize her story, Annette refused to let them twist it. “They wanted to make it about themselves,” she said. “But survival is not about ego. It’s about letting go of it.”
Today, the jungle that once represented death has become her sanctuary — a reminder that true strength comes not from control, but from surrender. Annette Herfkens’ story is more than one of survival. It’s a testament to the human spirit — proof that even when the world crashes down around us, we can rise, rebuild, and find peace in the most unexpected places.