Annette Herfkens: The Woman Who Found Life in Death’s Shadow

Life had handed Annette Herfkens everything she’d ever wanted by 1992.
A powerhouse on Wall Street, she commanded trading floors with confidence, her career soaring alongside a love story that seemed pulled from the pages of a romance novel. The future stretched before her like an endless horizon of possibilities.
Then came that fateful flight—and everything changed in the space of a heartbeat.
Three decades have passed since Dutch native Annette Herfkens found herself caught in what should have been the perfect romantic getaway. William, her partner of 13 years and the love of her life, had orchestrated their escape from the relentless demands of their careers.
As the head of Internationale Nederlanden Bank’s Vietnam operations, William understood the toll their high-stakes world had taken. Annette, immersed in her trading responsibilities, had spent half a year working apart from him across different continents. This vacation represented more than rest—it was their chance to rediscover each other.
Their itinerary painted a picture of bliss: explore the vibrant energy of Ho Chi Minh City, then lose themselves in the tranquil beauty of Nha Trang’s pristine coastline.
But Vietnam Airlines Flight 474 would rewrite their love story into something far darker, carrying 25 souls toward an unthinkable fate.
Terror Takes Flight
Claustrophobia had always been Annette’s nemesis, and stepping aboard that aging Yakovlev Yak-40 on November 14th, 1992, sent familiar waves of anxiety crashing over her. The Soviet-era aircraft would transport her and her beloved “Pasje” to those promised sunny shores of Nha Trang—or so they believed.
Sensing her distress, William offered gentle reassurance wrapped in a harmless deception: twenty minutes, he promised, and they’d be there.
But when nearly double that time elapsed and they remained suspended in the sky, terror began its cruel ascent.
“Fear filled Pasje’s eyes as he looked at me. ‘Of course this pathetic tin can would plummet like this!’ I shouted, grabbing for his hand desperately. ‘Just turbulence—we’re fine.’ Yet his instincts proved tragically accurate. Down we went again. A scream pierced the cabin. Darkness swallowed us whole. Then—impact,” Herfkens later recounted to the New York Post.
Awakening to Horror
Consciousness returned to find her engulfed by the hostile Vietnamese wilderness.
An unknown passenger’s lifeless form lay across her body. Close by, van der Pas sat motionless in his seat, that familiar smile frozen forever on his face. He was gone.
“That moment demands a choice—fight or flight,” she reflected to The Guardian. “Flight won, without question.”
The escape remains fragmented in her memory, mercifully blurred by trauma. “The agony of extracting myself must have been unbearable,” she acknowledged. “Somehow I dragged myself from the wreckage, lowered myself down, then crawled another thirty yards through the undergrowth.”
Her body bore devastating wounds—hip shattered, leg fractured, lung collapsed, jawbone jutting through torn flesh. Yet against impossible odds, she had survived. And initially, she wasn’t entirely alone.
A Symphony of Silence
The crash’s immediate aftermath brought other voices—moans of pain, desperate calls for help. One Vietnamese passenger even shared his clothing when her skirt was destroyed. But as hours stretched into days, those voices began their final fade to silence.
Eventually, only the dead kept her company.
Survival demanded innovation. She employed yoga breathing techniques to combat her lung injury—”mindfulness before the term became mainstream,” as she described it. Rainwater collection using aircraft insulation became her lifeline, though the effort shredded her elbows so severely that skin grafts would later be required.
“Every couple of hours, I’d allow myself one small sip,” she remembered. “Then I’d celebrate that tiny victory. Those moments of self-congratulation became survival fuel.”
The World Mourns Too Soon
Meanwhile, the outside world had written her obituary. Newspapers published her death notice. Her employer sent condolence letters to her family. Yet one person refused to surrender hope: colleague and dear friend Jaime Lupa.
“When I vowed to Annette’s father, ‘I will return with your daughter alive,’ his reaction was explosive,” Lupa recalled. “‘You’re delusional!’ he raged. ‘Face reality!'”
Day seven brought Herfkens to the edge of surrender. But day eight delivered salvation.
A Vietnamese police officer and his recovery team emerged from the jungle—equipped only with body bags.
They hadn’t expected to encounter any survivors.

Rising from Ashes
Following her mountain rescue via improvised stretcher, Herfkens began her journey home. December found her attending William’s funeral from a wheelchair. By New Year’s, she had regained her ability to walk. February 1993 saw her return to the banking world.
But healing proves more complex than physical recovery. Grief maintained its grip. Rage simmered beneath the surface. Trauma doesn’t simply vanish with time.
Years later, she found love again with Jaime Lupa—the very friend who had refused to abandon hope—and together they welcomed two children, Joosje and Max. Though their marriage eventually ended, she built a meaningful new existence while maintaining an unexpected connection to the jungle that had nearly claimed her life.
“When you embrace what’s absent, you discover what’s present,” she explained. “I accepted that I wouldn’t be lounging on that beach with my fiancé… Once I made peace with that reality, I could appreciate what surrounded me—this magnificent jungle.”
This philosophy became the foundation of her memoir, Turbulence: A True Story of Survival.

Lessons Written in Loss
Herfkens transformed her experience into inspiration, becoming a sought-after motivational speaker who attributes her survival to more than mere chance—she credits instinct.
“Being the baby of the family meant abundant love but also independence. Nobody dictated my thoughts or feelings, so I learned to trust my inner voice,” she shared.

She even theorizes that undiagnosed ADHD contributed to her childhood adaptability and charm. “Had I been medicated as a child, I might never have developed the qualities that sustained me in that jungle,” she mused.
When her son Max received an autism diagnosis, she applied identical survival principles: “You must grieve what isn’t there,” she counseled herself. “But focus intensely on what is.”
She immersed herself in supportive communities, building connections across diverse backgrounds, even conducting practice visits to police stations with Max—a precautionary measure.
“Our circle included many young Black autistic men, and their mothers emphasized the critical importance of teaching proper police interaction—keeping hands visible at all times,” she noted.
Marking Time, Celebrating Life
Each anniversary of those eight harrowing days receives its own commemoration. She sips water mindfully. She purchases herself something special.
“I excel at self-care,” she admits with genuine warmth. “It’s one of my strengths.”
Complete healing remains elusive. Air travel requires avoiding seats behind other passengers. Vietnamese cuisine can still trigger unwelcome memories. Yet she has never stopped the work of survival.
Even Hollywood executives struggled to grasp her story’s true essence, wanting to reshape it around her personal journey rather than its deeper meaning.

“My survival came from transcending self-focus,” she insists. “You move beyond your small concerns, activate your instincts, then accomplish the extraordinary.”
Today, that jungle—scene of her greatest loss—serves as her most treasured refuge.
“It remains my sanctuary,” she reveals.
For Annette Herfkens, survival transcends any single dramatic moment. It represents a philosophy, a daily practice, a masterclass in processing loss while finding illumination filtering through the canopy above.