Annette Herfkens: A True Story of Survival and Resilience
In 1992, Annette Herfkens seemed to be living the life many dream of. She was a successful Wall Street trader, thriving in a fast-paced finance career, and sharing a passionate, loving relationship. Everything appeared perfect—her future bright and full of promise. Yet, in a single terrifying instant, all of that changed.
Annette, originally from the Netherlands, had planned a romantic getaway with her longtime partner, William. After thirteen years together, William—who headed the Vietnam branch of Internationale Nederlanden Bank—and Annette, immersed in her trading career, had finally carved out time to reconnect after months apart. Their trip was meant as a break from demanding professional lives, a chance to rekindle their bond, and a retreat into relaxation and love.
Their itinerary was simple and idyllic: Ho Chi Minh City, a bustling city brimming with energy, followed by Nha Trang, a peaceful coastal resort known for its calm beaches. But what was meant to be a serene escape turned into a nightmare aboard Vietnam Airlines Flight 474.
As a lifelong claustrophobe, Annette felt a sense of dread even before boarding the Yakovlev Yak-40, an older Soviet-built jet that immediately unsettled her. On November 14, 1992, she stepped onto the plane with William, anxious and uneasy. Her fiancé, whom she affectionately called “Pasje,” tried to reassure her with a small white lie: the flight would take just 20 minutes. But the minutes stretched on, tension mounting, fear rising. Suddenly, the plane dropped. Passengers screamed, the cabin went dark, and the crash came. Annette’s life was forever changed in those moments of terror.
When she regained consciousness, the Vietnamese jungle surrounded her. Wreckage was strewn everywhere. Nearby lay the lifeless body of William, still strapped to his seat—a devastating reminder of the tragedy. Annette herself was gravely injured: a shattered hip, broken leg, collapsed lung, and a bone protruding from her jaw. Yet, against all odds, she was alive.
Her survival instincts kicked in. Despite excruciating pain, she crawled out of the wreckage, dragging herself through dense jungle. It was a battle to stay alive, and she chose to fight. In those first hours, other survivors’ voices could be heard, and a kind Vietnamese businessman offered clothing after her skirt tore. But gradually, silence descended; one by one, the voices faded, leaving Annette surrounded by the dead.
To endure, she employed breathing techniques she had learned in yoga to manage her lung injury—a form of mindfulness long before the term became popular. She collected rainwater using insulation from the plane’s wings, risking further injury as she tore her elbows badly enough to require skin grafts later. Water was rationed carefully, sips every two hours, each small success celebrated as essential to her survival.
Back home, friends and family feared the worst. An obituary was even published, and her employer sent condolences. Yet her close friend and colleague, Jaime Lupa, refused to give up hope. He had promised Annette’s father he would bring her home alive, despite skepticism from others. By the seventh day, Annette felt her strength waning—but on the eighth day, a miracle occurred. A Vietnamese policeman and his team, searching for victims, discovered her alive. She was rescued and carried down the mountain on a makeshift stretcher.
Returning home, Annette faced the long process of healing. She attended William’s funeral in December in a wheelchair, yet by New Year’s, she was walking. By February 1993, she had remarkably returned to her banking job, a testament to her resilience. Emotional scars, however, lingered alongside the physical.
In the years that followed, Annette married Jaime Lupa, the friend determined to save her, and they had two children, Joosje and Max. Although the marriage later ended, Annette built a new life while cherishing the lessons learned in the jungle—the place where she nearly lost everything.
Her philosophy evolved into one of acceptance: “If you accept what’s not there, then you see what is there.” Accepting that she would never share the beach with William again allowed her to cherish the beauty surrounding her—the jungle, which had become her sanctuary. This mindset became central to her book, Turbulence: A True Story of Survival, where she shares her experiences and insights.
Annette attributes her survival not merely to luck but to instinct and inner strength, honed from her upbringing as the youngest child—loved, but also encouraged to rely on herself. She speculates that undiagnosed ADHD in childhood nurtured creativity and resilience. Later, when her son Max was diagnosed with autism, she applied the same philosophy: focusing on what is present rather than mourning what is missing. She became an advocate for inclusive communities and the safety of children with disabilities, conducting practical exercises like “dry runs” at the police station to teach Max how to interact safely with law enforcement.
Each year, Annette marks the eighth day after the crash by sipping water and giving herself a small gift. The trauma remains; she avoids sitting behind passengers on planes, and certain Vietnamese foods trigger painful memories. Yet her spirit remains unbroken. Despite Hollywood interest in her story, she insists survival was not about fame or drama—it was about her ability to “get over herself”, letting go of ego to trust instincts and overcome seemingly impossible odds.
Today, the jungle—the site of her near-death—remains her sanctuary, a reminder that survival is not a single event but a lifelong mindset. Annette Herfkens’ journey is a testament to courage, resilience, and the human capacity to find light even in the darkest moments.