In 1992, Annette Herfkens was living what many would call the perfect life.
She was a thriving Wall Street trader, enjoying a flourishing career, a deep romantic relationship, and endless possibilities ahead.
But a romantic getaway with her longtime partner took a tragic and life-altering turn.
Over three decades ago, Dutch-born Annette set off on what was meant to be a dream vacation with her beloved William, her partner of 13 years.
William, heading the Vietnam office of Internationale Nederlanden Bank, encouraged the trip to escape the pressures of their demanding jobs. The couple, often separated by work across countries, had finally found time to reconnect.
Their escape was carefully planned: begin in the bustling streets of Ho Chi Minh City and then unwind at the serene seaside resort of Nha Trang.
However, their journey aboard Vietnam Airlines Flight 474 would end not in paradise—but in catastrophe.
An Uneasy Feeling Before Departure
As a lifelong sufferer of claustrophobia, Annette felt a rising unease stepping into the Soviet-era Yakovlev Yak-40 jet on November 14, 1992. She and her fiancé were bound for the beach, but her instincts told her something was wrong.
To comfort her, William—whom she affectionately called “Pasje”—told her the flight would only take 20 minutes.
But 40 minutes in, they were still flying. Fear took hold.
“I saw the worry in Pasje’s eyes,” she later recounted to the New York Post. “I tried to brush it off—saying it was just turbulence. But then the plane dropped. Screams rang out. The cabin turned black. And then we hit.”
Awakening Amid Chaos
Annette regained consciousness in the heart of the Vietnamese jungle.
A stranger’s lifeless body was lying on top of her. Nearby, William was still in his seat—his face peaceful, his life gone.
“That’s when your instincts kick in,” she later told The Guardian. “Mine told me to flee.”
Her memories of those first moments are vague. She believes she dragged herself from the wreckage, suffering immense pain but driven by survival.
Despite devastating injuries—her leg broken, her hip shattered, a collapsed lung, and a jawbone exposed—she clung to life.
A Solitary Fight for Survival
In the hours following the crash, Annette wasn’t alone. Other passengers initially survived. One Vietnamese man even offered her clothing to replace her torn skirt. But soon, their voices fell silent—one by one.
To manage the pain and her lung damage, she turned to breathwork techniques she’d learned from yoga—what she later called “mindfulness before the word existed.”
She gathered rainwater using insulation from the aircraft, injuring her arms in the process—wounds that would eventually need skin grafts.
“I’d sip every couple of hours, then congratulate myself,” she said. “That little ritual kept me going.”
Presumed Dead
Back home, loved ones mourned. Newspapers published her obituary. Her boss sent condolences. But one colleague, Jaime Lupa, refused to believe she was gone.
“I told her father, ‘I will bring your daughter back alive,’” Lupa remembered. “He was angry—he thought I was being unrealistic.”
On day seven, Annette felt herself fading. But the next day, rescue came in the most unexpected way.
A group of Vietnamese policemen arrived, carrying only body bags. They didn’t expect any survivors.
Rebuilding After Devastation
Annette was evacuated from the mountain using a makeshift stretcher. By December, she returned for William’s funeral—still in a wheelchair. By January, she could walk. And just weeks later, she resumed her work in finance.
But the emotional scars ran deep. She battled grief, anger, and post-traumatic stress.
In time, she married Jaime—the colleague who’d vowed to bring her home—and had two children, Joosje and Max. Though their marriage ended later, Annette built a new chapter while carrying the memory of the jungle with her.
“When I stopped wishing for what wasn’t there, I saw what was there,” she reflected. “Not the beach with my fiancé—but the beauty of the jungle around me.”
This philosophy became the heart of her memoir, Turbulence: A True Story of Survival.
Finding Purpose in the Pain
Annette began sharing her story publicly, becoming a motivational speaker. She credits her survival to more than luck—she believes her instincts saved her.
Growing up as the youngest in her family, often left to figure things out alone, she developed strong intuitive skills.
She even believes her undiagnosed ADHD helped her adapt and survive. “Had I been medicated as a child, I might never have developed the resourcefulness I needed to get through the jungle,” she said.
When her son Max was diagnosed with autism, she drew upon that same survivor’s mindset.
“You grieve what’s not there—but you focus on what is,” she explained. She became involved with inclusive communities and took proactive steps—like rehearsing police encounters with her son—to prepare him for life.
“In our circle, many Black boys were autistic. It was crucial to teach them to keep their hands visible if approached by police,” she said.
Honoring Her Past
Every year, Annette quietly observes the eight-day anniversary of the crash. She drinks water. Buys herself a present.
“I enjoy celebrating myself,” she said. “I’ve gotten good at that.”
Her trauma hasn’t vanished. She still avoids certain airplane seats. The taste of Vietnamese cuisine can bring back haunting memories. Yet her strength remains.
When Hollywood producers approached her, they struggled to grasp her story without sensationalizing it.
“I believe I survived because I let go of my ego,” she said. “When you do that, your instincts take over—and that’s when you achieve the impossible.”
The jungle that nearly took her life has become her place of solace.
“It’s where I feel most at peace,” she said.
For Annette Herfkens, surviving wasn’t just about enduring a crash—it became a way of living. A mindset rooted in loss, resilience, and the beauty found in what remains.