In 1992, Annette Herfkens seemed to have it all.
A rising star on Wall Street, thriving in a high-stakes trading career, deeply in love, and with the world spread out before her like a promise.
But everything changed in an instant — aboard a flight with the man she loved, her life was about to be shattered in the most unimaginable way.
Thirty-three years ago, Dutch-born Annette was swept up in what was supposed to be the ultimate romantic getaway.
Her partner of 13 years, William — the man she trusted above all — had persuaded her to escape their relentless, high-pressure lives for a much-needed break.
William led the Vietnam branch of Internationale Nederlanden Bank, while Annette was a savvy trader. After half a year apart, working in different countries, they finally carved out time just for each other.
Their plan: reunite in vibrant Ho Chi Minh City, then drift away to the peaceful, sun-drenched beaches of Nha Trang.
But the flight carrying them — Vietnam Airlines Flight 474 — and its 23 other passengers would soon face a devastating fate.
Before boarding, a shiver ran down Annette’s spine.
A lifelong claustrophobe, stepping onto the aging Soviet-built Yakovlev Yak-40 on November 14, 1992, filled her with dread.
William — her “Pasje,” as she affectionately called him — sensed her fear and tried to calm her with a gentle fib: “The flight will only take 20 minutes.”
But fate had other plans.
But when 40 minutes slipped by and the plane was still airborne, a cold wave of panic washed over them.
“Pasje looked at me with fear,” Annette recalled. “‘Of course, a shitty little toy plane drops like this!’ I reached for his hand, trying to steady both of us. ‘It’s just an air pocket — don’t worry.’ But deep down, I knew he was right to be scared.”
Then, without warning, the plane lurched violently again.
A blood-curdling scream pierced the cabin. Darkness swallowed everything.
Seconds later, they crashed.
Waking up in a nightmare
When Annette opened her eyes, the wild roar of the Vietnamese jungle surrounded her like a nightmare come alive.
A stranger’s lifeless body lay draped across her. Nearby, William — still strapped to his seat — smiled, forever frozen in time.
“He was gone.”
“That’s when you face the ultimate choice: fight or flight,” Annette told The Guardian. “And I chose flight.”
Her escape from the wreckage is a hazy, fractured memory.
“It must have been excruciating pain to get out of there,” she said. “But somehow, I crawled out. I lifted myself down. Then crawled another 30 yards.”
She was grievously injured — a shattered hip, a broken leg, a collapsed lung, and bone jutting from her jaw — yet she was alive. And not entirely alone.
Surrounded by the dead
In the terrifying hours after the crash, Annette wasn’t the only one who had survived.
She heard faint groans and desperate cries. A Vietnamese businessman even offered her clothing after her skirt tore.
But one by one, those voices faded into silence.
Soon, she was surrounded only by death.
To survive, she turned inward. She used yoga breathing to steady her wounded lungs — “mindfulness before the world even knew the word,” she said.
A will to live
Alone on a jungle mountainside, with her body broken and death all around, Annette Herfkens refused to give in.
She collected rainwater using scraps of insulation from the plane’s wings, tearing her elbows so badly that they later required skin grafts.
“Every two hours, I would take a sip,” she said. “And then—I congratulated myself. And that also makes you survive.”
The world thought she was gone
Back in the world she once belonged to, people were mourning her. Newspapers ran her obituary. Her boss sent condolences. The world had already buried her.
But one man wasn’t ready to let go. Jaime Lupa — her colleague and close friend — refused to believe she was dead.
“When I promised Annette’s father before I left, ‘I will bring your daughter back alive,’ he was furious,” Lupa recalled. “‘You are an idiot,’ he shouted. ‘Get real!’”
On the seventh day in the jungle, Annette felt her strength slipping away. Her body was failing. Her hope dimming.
Then came day eight.
Out of the trees came a Vietnamese policeman and his team — carrying only body bags.
They hadn’t come to rescue anyone. They had come to collect the dead.
Instead, they found her. Alive.
A new life after tragedy
She was carried down the mountain on a makeshift stretcher. In December, she returned home — in a wheelchair — just in time for her fiancé’s funeral. By New Year’s, she was walking again. By February 1993, she was back in the world of high finance.
But her soul bore wounds no cast could heal. Grief clung to her. Anger simmered. Trauma lingered.
In time, she built something new.
She married Jaime — the man who had refused to give up on her — and together they had two children, Joosje and Max. Though their marriage didn’t last, Annette forged a life defined not by tragedy, but by resilience.
“If you accept what’s not there,” she said, “you can begin to see what is.”
She didn’t make it to the beach with her fiancé. But instead of darkness, she remembered the beauty of the jungle that had tried to kill her — and somehow saved her.
That mantra became the heart of her memoir, Turbulence: A True Story of Survival.
“You learn from taking losses”
Annette became a global speaker, sharing her story not as a tale of luck — but of instinct, resilience, and fierce will.
“I was the youngest child. I grew up with love, but I was often left to figure things out alone. That taught me instinct,” she said.
She believes her undiagnosed ADHD was part of what helped her survive:
“If I’d had Ritalin as a kid, I might never have developed the creativity and charm that helped me in the jungle.”
That same mindset helped her raise her son Max, who was diagnosed with autism.
“You mourn what’s not there,” she said. “But you focus on what is.”
She built a supportive, inclusive community for her son, joining forces with other parents, regardless of background. She took Max on practice visits to the police station — just in case.
“There were many Black autistic boys in our group,” she recalled. “And it was so important to the mothers to teach them: when the police come, keep your hands visible.”
Still counting the days
Each year, Annette honors the eight days she spent in the jungle. She sips water. She buys herself a gift.
“I like treating myself,” she says, her smile laced with survivor’s wisdom. “I’m good at that.”
She still carries the scars — psychological and physical. She avoids sitting behind others on airplanes. Vietnamese food can trigger flashbacks. But the survival instinct never left her.
Even Hollywood, she says, didn’t quite know what to do with her story.
“They wanted to make it more dramatic, more heroic,” she shrugs. “But survival… it’s quiet. It’s raw. It’s real.”
And that, more than anything, is what makes her story unforgettable.
“I really think the reason I survived,” Annette said, “is because I got over myself.”
“You let go of your little ego, and that’s when your instincts kick in. That’s when you start achieving things — not because you’re strong, but because you’re real.”
To this day, the jungle — the very place where she lost the love of her life, her sense of safety, nearly her own life — remains her sanctuary.
“It’s been my safe place ever since,” she explained.
Because for Annette Herfkens, survival was never just about those eight days.
It’s a daily choice. A mindset. A quiet strength forged in silence, pain, and stillness.
A lesson in letting go — and in learning to see the light through the leaves.
