From A Real Adventure
Let's do something different," Monica Glenn said to her fiancé, William Zea, shortly after he proposed. "Let's honeymoon in the jungle."
Monica, an American from California, had met William in Arequipa, Peru, where she was teaching English in an elementary school. The two sang in a choir at the local university. She was a soprano. William, who was working toward a professional degree in industrial engineering, was a tenor. The romance bloomed to the strains of the haunting Spanish folk song "Te Quiero" ("I love you").
Their wedding, on August 21, 2005, was picture-perfect. Monica swept down the aisle of the old Peruvian church in a handmade gown, clutching a bouquet of melody roses and beaming at her family, who'd flown in from California to be there.
Two days later, the newlyweds rattled along a winding coastal road on a 14-hour bus ride to Lima, spinning with excitement. A 27-year-old with a sweep of shoulder-length brown hair, Monica had always been an adventurer. After college, she joined the Peace Corps and taught English in a rural village in China. Still eager to explore new cultures, she found a teaching position -- and William -- in Arequipa.
As the bus bumped along, Monica flipped through a guidebook, reading about the Peruvian rain forest, one of the most biodiverse places on earth. "I hope we see some monkeys," she said to William.
They planned to fly to the northeast city of Pucallpa, and then on to Iquitos, a frontier town at the headwaters of the Amazon. The area was known for its hanging bridges -- catwalks constructed high up in the treetops of the jungle -- and for its wilderness river cruises.
Their tour package included a four-day trip down the Amazon in a shallow-draft boat. Sleeping in single beds surrounded by mosquito netting in a jungle lodge isn't everyone's dream honeymoon -- but it was theirs. A real adventure.
At the airport in Lima, another American, Gabriel Vivas, was on an excursion of his own. Gabriel, a round-faced man with a crew cut and a big smile, stood on the tarmac, waiting to board the red-and-white TANS Peru jetliner. With him, gripping a carry-on and a shopping bag filled with gifts, was his wife, Diana. The two Brooklyn residents had saved to make the trip from New York -- their first vacation away from their five kids. They had planned to fly to Pucallpa so Diana could finally meet Gabriel's dad.
"It's just a hop, skip and a jump," Gabriel, the manager of an audio- equipment rental store, told Diana, who was a nervous flier.
The trip was special in another way. Accompanying them were Gabriel's brother, José, and his three girls.
José's oldest daughter, Joshelyn, was celebrating her 15th birthday, or Quinceañera -- which in Latin countries marks a girl's transition from childhood to maturity. There was going to be a family party with music, dancing and a five-layer cake with pink roses.
Now, laden with backpacks, CDs and 45 treat bags for local school-children, the Vivas clan jostled up the stairs to board the Boeing 737.
Passengers moved slowly down the aisle, finding seats, stowing luggage and clicking on seat belts. With 92 passengers and 6 crew members, Flight 204 was filled to near capacity.
At 2:24 p.m., the plane lifted off the runway and into sunny skies, then banked over the rooftops of Lima, beginning its climb to a cruising altitude of 10,000 feet. The 300-mile flight would take an hour.
One of the flight attendants, Paola Chu, worked her way down the aisle, serving cake, juice and coffee as passengers leaned toward the windows for a better view.
Paola was in charge of the back of the plane. TANS flight attendants took positions based on seniority, and Paola expected to work up front that day. Instead, she was assigned to a second team in the back. She could handle it. In just three short years, flying for two airlines, she'd seen it all -- turbulence, unruly passengers, airsick kids.
"Look how beautiful it is!" exclaimed Diana Vivas. Below lay the Andes mountains, a magical panoply of thickly forested green, laced with shimmering blue rivers and lakes.
Next to Diana, Gabriel chatted excitedly, pointing to tiny Indian villages below. "People there still carry their clothes to the river to wash them," he told his wife. In the row behind them, the three dark-haired Vivas girls ate cake and sipped soda.
Monica Glenn had fallen asleep, but William was awake. The newlywed engineering student was also a volunteer firefighter, and sometimes he found himself replaying images of a 1996 plane crash in the mountains near his hometown. He and his crew had rushed to the site, only to find all 117 passengers dead. Now he pulled the plastic emergency safety card from the seat pocket and studied it carefully. In case of an emergency, it said, passengers should use the nearest exit. William glanced up; the closest one was two rows in front of him. He put the card back, pushing away his anxiety.
The Boeing 737, one of three aircraft owned by TANS Peru, had 20 rows, with four emergency exits: one in the front, one in the middle and two toward the rear. The state-owned airline linked Lima with jungle and mountain towns. Flying in remote and rugged regions in poor countries can be risky. The "2005 Safety Report" of the International Air Transport Association shows that the "loss rate" for Western-built jet aircraft is 13 times greater in Latin America than North America. Adverse weather is a factor in 70 percent of "control flight terrain accidents." That term means the pilot is still at the controls of the plane when it crashes into obstacles, water or the ground. The proficiency of the flight crew figures in 50 percent of such crashes. In January 2003, a TANS plane struck a mountain, killing all 46 people aboard.
Monica stirred awake and squeezed William's hand. "It's so green out there!" she said, stretching. As she gazed down at the lush canopy, the pilot came on the intercom to instruct passengers to fasten their seat belts and to stow tray tables. The plane was making its approach and would be landing in Pucallpa in ten minutes' time.
Moments later, as the 737 began its descent, the skies outside darkened. Rain pelted the windows, and the jet began to bump and roll.
"Something's Wrong"
Paola Chu had just finished the beverage service and had secured the carts when the "fasten seat belt" sign flashed on. The cabin boss up front called on the service phone and told the flight attendants to take a seat. Paola knew then that the weather was rough. A lighted seat belt sign normally applied only to passengers. She and her partner took jump seats next to the back door. Unconcerned, Paola checked her makeup in a pocket mirror, expertly applying pink lipstick as the plane bounced and rocked.
The turbulence increased, and the plane shook violently. Then there was a stomach-churning drop. "Oh, my God, my God!" cried Diana Vivas. She grabbed her husband's arm. "It's okay," he said. "It happens all the time." But Gabriel was nervous too. Out the window he saw treetops. Thank God, we're almost down, he thought.
Behind them, Gabriel's nieces were screaming. The plane was bouncing like a ball.
White-faced and gripping the armrest, Monica turned to William. "This isn't right," she said. "Something's wrong."
By now, even Paola was worried. The plane was dropping five stories, slamming to a stop, then plunging another five stories. Paola couldn't see out the window, but she heard the engines revving loudly, the way they do when a pilot is trying to correct for a landing. She could hear hailstones on the windows.
The plane was out of control, rocking, shaking, hurtling downward. The lights in the cabin flickered out. Paola heard a rapid-fire rat-tat-tat like a stick run against a picket fence -- tree limbs at the window!
The aircraft shredded its way through a swath of thick rain forest canopy, then slammed to the ground, breaking in half.
In front of Gabriel, seats flew into the air. Oxygen masks popped from overhead. I'll never see my kids again, thought Diana. Gabriel, thrown forward in his seat, felt a gust of heat on his face, as if someone had opened a furnace. He looked up and saw an orange fireball burst in front of him.
"I can't get my seat belt off!" Diana screamed. The plane was in pandemonium, the aisles dark and filling with thick smoke. Passengers sprang from their seats, surging into the aisle. Their screams added to the confusion. In one swift motion, Gabriel grabbed Diana by the arm, loosened her belt and grabbed his niece Jharline. "C'mon, move!" he cried, pushing them down the aisle ahead of him. Behind him, he heard a cry: "Ayuda! Ayuda!" A Peruvian woman, trapped by her belt, called for help in Spanish. Gabriel turned back to free her, put her in front of him and said, "Go, go, go."
The smoke was so dense, nobody could see. Some passengers from the front of the plane had struggled down the aisle and were jumping out through the breach at mid-aircraft.
William and Monica were out of their seats. Monica was moving toward the nearest exit, two rows ahead. "No!" William shouted. "Through the back!" This contradicted the safety instructions he'd read, but he knew in his gut he was right. The front part of the plane was burning. William pushed his wife toward the rear. As a firefighter, he knew most flight fatalities come from victims inhaling hot, toxic gases. Deliberately, he covered his wife's face with his hands.
Paola Chu had been knocked unconscious near the exit at the rear. She woke on the floor of the galley with an excruciating headache, bleeding from a gash in her forehead. The door had burst open on impact, and passengers trampled over her in their rush to get out. Now she struggled to her feet, forcing herself to remember what she'd learned in training: You have just 90 seconds to get the passengers off before the plane explodes.
The exit was now blocked with flames. Paola scrambled to the second rear exit and struggled with the handle. It was stuck. A slight and petite woman, she leaned into it, using all her shoulder, arm and leg strength. She couldn't budge the door. "Help me," she pleaded. A man assisted, pulling the handle, and Paola gave the door a sharp kick. It snapped open. "Get out! Get out!" she yelled.
The exit opened into darkness and pelting hail. A murky swamp lay ten feet below. The emergency slide had broken when the plane crashed.
"Jump!" Paola shouted.
Passengers hurried toward the exit, pushing and shoving. People were knocked to the floor. Others scrambled over them. "Don't push," cried Paola. She bent down to help those who'd fallen. "Don't shove," she ordered. "Get out."
One by one, about 20 passengers leaped out the door and into the swamp. José Vivas and his three girls jumped, then Gabriel and Diana. Monica and William followed them.
Smoke and fumes swirled as Paola stood at her post by the door. She was about to black out. Through the din, she heard the screams of passengers still trapped in the plane. They're burning up, she thought. But the black smoke choked her; she couldn't breathe. One more minute in here, she realized, and everyone will die.
Paola moved toward the daylight at the door. Lord forgive me, she thought. And she threw herself from the plane.