Er ging mit seinem Opa und seinem Bruder spazieren: Ein kleiner Junge ist in einem Wald in Japan verschwunden. Er wurde erst drei Tage später gefunden - ohne gravierende Verletzungen. Ein zweijähriger Junge hat drei Tage alleine in einem Wald in der japanischen Präfektur Yamaguchi überlebt. Er verschwand nach einem Spaziergang mit seinem Bruder und seinem Großvater. Das Kind habe sich verlaufen, nachdem sein Opa ihn alleine nach Hause geschickt hatte, berichteten lokale Medien. Dort war er aber nicht angekommen. Es wurde eine Suchaktion gestartet, die landesweit Schlagzeilen machte. Polizisten und freiwillige Helfer suchten mit Hilfe von Spürhunden, Kameradrohnen und Hubschraubern nach dem Kleinkind. Mit Erfolg: Ein 78 Jahre alter Helfer fand den Jungen laut Polizei, wie unter anderem "Japan Times" berichtet. Das Kind habe auf einem Stein gesessen, seine nackten Füße hätten in einer kleinen Pfütze gesteckt. Der Zweijährige kam in ein Krankenhaus. "Er hat keine größeren Verletzungen, nur ein paar Kratzer und er ist leicht dehydriert", sagte ein Behördenvertreter. Der Junge überlebte die drei Tage unter schwierigen Bedingungen: In der Region herrschten Temperaturen von bis zu 34 Grad Celsius. Außerdem gibt es in dem Wald verschiedene Gewässer. Der Kleine musste sogar seinen Geburtstag alleine im Wald verbringen: Er wurde am Montag zwei Jahre alt. Der Junge habe sich auf dem Heimweg verlaufen, berichteten andere Medien. Der Kleine wollte demnach nicht mehr weiter spazieren gehen und habe geweint. Daraufhin soll der Großvater seinen Enkelsohn alleine nach Hause geschickt haben. Der Zweijährige wurde nur einige Hundert Meter von seinem Wohnhaus entfernt aufgefunden. Seine Mutter weinte Freudentränen. "Ich bin so froh, dass mein Sohn heil zurückgekommen ist. Er schläft jetzt tief und fest, er schien erleichtert, aber müde zu sein", sagte die Frau im Lokalfernsehen. Der Großvater bedankte sich bei dem freiwilligen Helfer, der seinen Enkel fand. Der 78-Jährige war aus der Nachbarprovinz angereist, um die Suche zu unterstützen - der Rentner meldet sich häufig freiwillig für Hilfseinsätze.

Glück im Unglück hatte ein Crew-Mitglied der „Norwegian Getaway“: Bei der Rückkehr von einer Karibik-Kreuzfahrt nach Miami fiel der 33-jährige Mann ungefähr 45 Kilometer vor der kubanischen Küste über Bord, konnte jedoch nach 22 Stunden im offenen Meer gerettet werden. Passagiere eines anderen Kreuzfahrtschiffs sahen ihn durch Zufall im Meer treiben. Es ist der Albtraum vieler Kreuzfahrt-Passagiere: Man beugt sich zu weit über die Reling, fällt über Bord und landet im offenen Ozean. Eine dramatische Situation, in der sich Samstag auch ein Crewmitglied des Kreuzfahrtschiffs „Norwegian Getaway“ der Reederei „Norwegian Cruise Line“ befand. Um 3.20 Uhr nachts war der Mann, ein philippinischer Staatsbürger, aus bisher ungeklärten Gründen vom Schiff gefallen. Das berichtete unter anderem der „Miami Herald“ . Zu diesem Zeitpunkt befand sich das Kreuzfahrtschiff etwa 45 Kilometer vor der Küste der kubanischen Provinz Pinar del Río im Nordwesten der Insel. Die US-Küstenwache wurde sofort benachrichtigt. Nur zehn Minuten später suchte bereits ein von Miami aus entsendeter Rettungshubschrauber das Gebiet ab, konnte das Crew-Mitglied jedoch nicht mehr finden. 22 Stunden im Golf von Mexiko Die Küstenwache gab nicht auf und suchte insgesamt 4200 Quadratkilometer ab. Doch erst 22 Stunden später wurde der Mann per Zufall gefunden – vom Kreuzfahrtschiff „Carnival Glory“, das am Samstag den Hafen in Miami verlassen hatte und in diese Richtung gesteuert war. Zu diesem Zeitpunkt trieb der Mann etwa 32 Kilometer nördlich von Kuba im Wasser. „Die ‚Carnival Glory‘ hat jemanden, der mit den Armen winkte, im Wasser gefunden und ihn gerettet“, zitiert CBS Miami einen Sprecher der US-Küstenwache. Der Mann sei unverletzt und in einem stabilen Zustand gewesen.  „Das ist ein Wunder“, sagte die Präsidentin von Carnival Cruise Line Christine Duffy laut „Miami Herald“. „Ein großes Lob geht an das ‚Carnival Glory‘-Team für die Rettung eines anderen Seemanns.“

Im australischen Hinterland ist ein junges Paar mit seinem kleinen Sohn tot aufgefunden worden. Vermutet wird, dass die Familie eine Autopanne hatte und dann der Hitze zum Opfer fiel. Die Leichen der beiden 19 Jahre alten Eltern und des Dreijährigen wurden nach Polizeiangaben vom Donnerstag auf einer einsamen Straße in der Nähe der Gemeinde Willowra entdeckt. Ihr Auto, mit dem sie nicht mehr weiterkamen, stand etwa vier Kilometer entfernt. Die Siedlung liegt etwa 300 Kilometer nördlich von Alice Springs, der einzigen größeren Stadt im australischen Outback. Die Temperaturen in dieser Region, wo kaum jemand unterwegs ist, liegen tagsüber aktuell bei mehr als 40 Grad. Die Behörden vermuten, dass sich die Familie nach einer Autopanne dazu entschied, zu Fuß nach Hilfe zu suchen und dann verdurstete. Nach einem zwölf Jahre alten Jungen, der möglicherweise ebenfalls im Auto saß, wird noch gesucht. Die Familie war am Freitag vergangener Woche zuletzt gesehen worden. Damals machte sie sich in Willowra auf den Weg zu einer langen Autofahrt in Richtung Melbourne, das mehr als 2500 Kilometer entfernt lieg

Vermisster drei Tage in Auto eingeschlossen - Zufall rettet Rentner wohl das Leben

Seit Dienstagabend wurde der 75-Jährige Alfons B. aus Pleinfeld im Landkreis Weißenburg-Gunzenhausen vermisst. Er fuhr mit seinem SUV davon und war spurlos verschwunden. Durch einen Zufall konnt er jetzt leben gefunden werden.

Ein Motorsegler entdeckte aus der Luft ein Feuer. Die Feuerwehr fand aber nicht nur das - sondern auch Alfons B. Symbolfoto: pixabay.com

Einem glücklichen Zufall ist es zu verdanken, dass am gestrigen Samstag Nachmittag der seit Dienstag vermisste Rentner und Großvater Alfons B. aus Pleinfeld wieder aufgefunden wurde. Das teilt die Polizei in Mittelfranken am Sonntagmorgen mit. Anders als bei einem zweiten Fall, bei dem sich ein Vermisste aus dem Allgäu in Mittelfranken aufhalten soll, kann hier Entwarnung gegeben werden.

Seit Dienstag spurlos vermisst

Der Mann wurde von seiner Familie am Dienstagabend bei der Weißenburger Polizei als vermisst gemeldet. Der 75-jährige war am Nachmittag mit seinem SUV zu einer Fahrt über Pleinfelds Wiesen und Felder aufgebrochen und nicht mehr zurückgekehrt. Trotz sofort eingeleiteter intensiver Suchmaßnahmen konnten zunächst keinerlei Hinweise auf den Verbleib des Rentners gewonnen werden, der gesundheitlich angeschlagen und auf Medikamente angewiesen ist.

Segler entdeckt Rauch - Feuerwehr findet Vermissten

Als jedoch am Samstag Nachmittag durch einen Motorsegler ein kleineres Nutzfeuer in einem Waldgebiet bei Dorsbrunn aus der Luft gesichtet wurde, fanden bei der Suche nach dem Brand die Rettungskräfte den festgefahrenen SUV des Vermissten in der Nähe einer Schafsweide abseits sämtlicher Waldwege.

Drei Nächte ohne Versorgung eingeschlossen

Der Mann war im Auto eingeschlossen, da ein umgefahrener Baum die Türe blockierte. Drei Nächte harrte der Rentner im Wagen aus, bis er von Polizei und Feuerwehr wohlbehalten befreit werden konnte. Er befand sich trotz der kalten Nächte und der langen Zeit ohne Versorgung in einem guten gesundheitlichen Zustand und gab an, sich nun auf sein zu Hause zu freuen.

Nach sieben Wochen alleine auf dem Ozean wurde ein 18-jähriger Indonesier gerettet. Der Jugendliche namens Aldi Novel Adilang überlebte, weil er Fische briet und Wasser aus seiner durchnässten Kleidung saugte.

Nach siebenwöchiger Odyssee auf dem Meer ist ein indonesischer Jugendlicher von seinem Boot gerettet worden. Aldi Novel Adilang wurde rund 2500 Kilometer entfernt in Gewässern vor der Küste Guams gefunden, wie seine Familie am Montag sagte. Mitte Juli hatte sich sein 125 Kilometer vor der Insel Sulawesi verankertes Fischerboot im Sturm losgerissen.

Die Aufgabe des 18-Jährigen war es, allein auf dem Schiff dafür zu sorgen, dass die Lampen zum Anlocken von Fischen nicht ausgingen. Der Schiffseigner kam wöchentlich vorbei, um Lebensmittel und Trinkwasser zu bringen.

Die als "Rompong" bekannten floßartigen Boote werden in Indonesien traditionell zum Fischfang eingesetzt. Viele der mit Netzen ausgestatteten Boote sind unbemannt, sie haben weder Motoren noch Ruder. Allein Adilangs Chef soll etwas 50 Rompongs besitzen. Adilangs Mutter Net Kahiking sagte: "Sein Chef sagte meinem Mann, dass er vermisst wird. Da haben wir uns Gott anvertraut und viel gebetet." Der Teenager hatte nur für ein paar Tage Vorräte.

Adilang überlebte, weil er Fische briet und Wasser aus seiner durchnässten Kleidung saugte, wie der indonesische Generalkonsul in Osaka, Mirza Nurhidayat der Zeitung "Jakarta Post" sagte. Als dem Teenager das Gas für den Kocher ausging, verbrannte er demnach die Holzbrüstung seines Bootes.

Nach Angaben eines anderen Diplomaten hatte der 18-Jährige mehr als zehn Schiffe vorbeifahren sehen, keines von ihnen habe jedoch angehalten oder ihn bemerkt. Erst am 31. August empfing bei Guam ein Schiff unter der Flagge Panamas ein Notsignal des unterernährten Adilang auf, wie die "Post" berichtete. (afp)

Ihre Unterarme waren weiß vom Rudern im Wasser, die Oberarme waren geschwollen, ein Bein hatte sie sich beim Kampf gegen die Wellen ausgerenkt. „Und das Ufer wollte einfach nicht näher kommen, obwohl ich nie aufgehört hatte, zu paddeln. Aber ich dachte nicht daran, aufzugeben, ich wollte nur die Taktik ändern.“ 21 Stunden lang hat Olga Kuldo gekämpft, allein gegen das Meer nördlich von Kreta. Auf einer Gummiluftmatratze geriet die 55-jährige Russin, nur mit einem Bikini bekleidet, in eine Sturmnacht, galt schon als tot. Aber sie überlebte, dank einer Körper-, aber vor allem einer Willensleistung, die ans Wunderbare grenzte. Olga Kuldo machte mit Mann und Tochter Urlaub auf Kreta, wollte sich nur fünf Minuten im Meer abkühlen. Gegen 14.30 Uhr stieg sie mit ihrer Luftmatratze am Kieselstrand ihres Hotels bei Rethymno ins Meer. Sie bemerkte schon nach Sekunden, dass sie abgetrieben wurde, fing an, mit Armen und Beinen zu paddeln, vergeblich. „Mein erstes Gefühl war Scham: Ich, eine erwachsene Frau, bin unfähig, aus eigener Kraft zurück ans Ufer zu gelangen.“ Die Strömung zerrte sie weiter hinaus. „Ich, rief um Hilfe, auf Russisch, Englisch und Deutsch.“ Der Strand wimmelte von Menschen, aber niemand bemerkte ihre Not. Sie legte sich quer über die rund 70 Zentimeter breite Matratze, mit Armen, Unterkörper und Beinen im Wasser. „Ich wollte auf jeden Fall verhindern, dass die Luft raus geht. Und ich wollte paddeln, bis ich wieder ans Ufer komme.“ Olga – eigenen Worten nach nur eine leidliche Schwimmerin – fing an, ihre Bein- und Armschläge zu zählen, sie betete, die Sonne ging unter, der Mond auf. Über ihr kreisten Möwen, Olga fürchtete, sie könnten mit ihren Schnäbeln ihre Matratze attackieren und versuchte, sie mit einem Lied zu vertreiben. Mit der Nacht kam Sturm, die Wellen türmten sich vier, fünf Meter hoch. Olga hielt sich mit ihrem Blick an den fernen Lichtern des Ufers fest. Und dachte an Tochter und Mann, auch an ihre 85-jährige Mutter. „Wie weh würde ich ihnen allen tun, wenn ich aufhöre, zu kämpfen.“ Sie ließ die lauernde Todesangst nicht auf ihre Matratze klettern, dachte an angenehme Dinge. „Und ich wollte es die ganze Zeit aus eigener Kraft schaffen, war mir auch, als die Kräfte nachließen, sicher, dass sich gleich die Strömung dreht, dass ich es wieder an Land schaffe.“ Dann sah sie ein Flugzeug, noch ein Flugzeug. Wie zum Gebet faltete sie die Hände über dem kopf. Und eine Maschine kehrte zurück, drinnen saß ein slowakischer Pilot der EU-Grenzagentur Frontex, er lotste ein Küstenwachschiff zu Olga. Inzwischen arbeitet sie wieder als Kardiologin in ihrer Selenograder Polyklinik. Sie sei keine Superheldin, sagt sie, sie sei glücklich, dass sie lebe und wieder bei ihrer Familie sei. Olga  hat etwas erlebt, über das Kinofilme gedreht wurden, von dem aber eigentlich keiner etwas weiß, weil es kaum einer überlebt hat. Die Berührung mit dem Tod, einen Tag und eine Nacht lang.

Former Wall Street trader Annette Herfkens, 55, a Dutch native now living on New York’s Upper East Side, was the sole survivor of a horrifying 1992 plane crash in Vietnam. At the time, she was 31, living in Madrid, and engaged to her boyfriend of 13 years — who died in the accident, along with the 22 other passengers and six crew members. Herfkens’ extraordinary memoir, “Turbulence,” is out Tuesday. She tells The Post’s Jane Ridley her inspiring story of physical and psychological endurance. My head is light. The plants around me are radiant. I do not feel the pain any longer. I am both out of my body and close to my body. I have left, but I am present. Darkness is mixed with brightness, the day with the night. I feel as protected as I possibly can be. I have surrendered myself completely. To the trees, the leaves, the crickets, the ants, the centipedes, life. Or is it to death I have surrendered? I am within the moment. A timeless moment of ecstatic freedom. A moment that gives me peace, unity and joy. That was my near-death experience on my penultimate day in the Vietnamese jungle — eight days after the plane I was on crashed into a remote mountain ridge. Although seriously injured, I was the only survivor. The other 29 passengers and crew, including my 36-year-old fiancé, Willem van der Pas, whom I called Pasje, all perished. It was Saturday, Nov. 14, 1992, when Pasje and I boarded Vietnamese Airlines Flight VN474 from Ho Chi Minh City for a romantic five-day vacation in Nha Trang, a resort on the South China Sea. The trip was a surprise for me — visiting from Madrid, where I was temporarily based with Santander Bank — and to provide much-needed respite for Pasje, who had moved to Vietnam six months earlier to set up two banking branches for his employer, ING. We had been together for 13 years after meeting at Leiden University in our native Netherlands as students. We knew we were destined to get married from the fourth year of college. After school, we lived for a while in Amsterdam; later, because of our work as bankers, we lived together or apart in various financial capitals in South America and Europe. When I arrived in Vietnam, it had been eight weeks since I’d seen Pasje. We were aching to be together. As usual, he met me at the airport, then took me on a whirlwind tour of the city before an intimate dinner at one of his favorite restaurants. We were blissfully happy. Neither of us could wait for the day when we could tie the knot and hopefully live somewhere like New York City and start a family. I was excited for the surprise getaway. But I felt so claustrophobic, I shuddered as we boarded the cramped Vietnam Airlines plane. “Can’t we take a car instead?” I asked Pasje. “The jungle is very dense, and the road is horrible,” he replied. “It would take days. By the time we get there, we would have to leave again.” I sat down nervously. Fifty excruciating minutes later, we experienced a tremendous drop, and Pasje looked at me with fear. “Of course, a sh - - tty little toy plane drops like this!” I said, reaching for his hand. “It’s just an air pocket — don’t worry.” But he was right to worry. We dropped again. Someone screamed. It went pitch-black. Seconds later, we made impact. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I guess I tumbled around in the cabin like a lonely piece of laundry in a clothes dryer, hitting my head and limbs against the ceiling and lockers. I may have been the only one not wearing a seat belt. At some point I must have landed and slipped under a seat, legs first, and gotten stuck. This kept me in place for the second, bigger impact, which caused the plane to break up. I awoke after four, maybe five hours. I saw Pasje across the aisle. He was lying in his seat, which had somehow flipped backward, and had a smile on his lips. A sweet little smile. But he was dead, his ribs crushed into his lungs by his seat belt. Shock must have set in, because I don’t remember crawling out of the plane. Soon, I was sitting outside of the cabin, on a mountain slope, under the trees in dense undergrowth. Everything hurt and I couldn’t move. My wraparound skirt had been torn off and I could see four inches of bluish bone sticking out through layers of flesh on my shin. I didn’t know it at the time, but my hips were fractured, I had a collapsed lung, and my jaw was hanging loose. As the days went on, gangrene set into my toes. There was a weird, unreal reality. Everything was green. The more I listened to the jungle sounds, the louder they became. I could see dead bodies strewn below me and, although I didn’t see anyone, I could hear faint moans from people still inside the plane. Beside me was a Vietnamese man, alive but badly hurt. “Don’t worry, they will come for us,” he said. To protect my modesty, he somehow managed to open his little square suitcase and give me a pair of trousers, which were part of a suit. I felt comforted by his words and his presence but, after a short conversation, we both retreated into our injuries. A few hours later, I saw the man was becoming weaker. Before long, he had difficulty breathing. The life went out of him. He was gone. There were no longer any sounds from the plane. I was completely alone. After that, I tried to move. Shifting even an inch was agony. But I tried not to dwell on my suffering and focused on what I could achieve, rather than what I could not. Over the following days, even though I was grieving for Pasje, I concentrated on my survival. What alternative did I have? I painfully pulled myself around a small section of the wreckage, dragging my body by my elbows. I stayed outside, because I couldn’t bear to see the corpses inside the plane. Once, I’d looked over at the man I’d been speaking to and a maggot crawled out of his eye. Those were terrifying images I didn’t want to see. My main goal was drinking water to stay hydrated, something I did by collecting rainwater in small sponges. I fashioned the sponges from insulation I found near the shattered wing of the plane. Standing up to retrieve the insulation was torture, and putting one foot in front of the other impossible. I wrung the moisture from the sponges into my mouth. In a vain attempt to stay dry, I wore a blue plastic poncho I’d found in someone’s pack. But I didn’t take anything from anyone else. It didn’t seem appropriate. As for emotions, I realized I couldn’t cry — because crying makes you weak. I knew that if I started, I would give up. Every time I thought of Pasje, I forced myself to stop. I would look at my engagement ring, but then I wouldn’t allow myself to think any further. It wouldn’t do any good. Instead I stayed in the now. I listened to my heart and instinct, and not to my mind, because the mind makes up stories that can frighten you. For example, I could have thought: “What if there are no rescue workers?,” or “What if that’s a tiger or that’s a snake?” But I knew I would deal with the snake or the tiger when they were in front of me. And if there was no rescue, I’d cross that bridge then. Another saving grace was the sheer beauty of the mountain. I would look at the varying shades of green on the leaves. How the sun would reflect in a raindrop. Meditating on nature became my distraction. I wouldn’t allow myself to think there was a chance I was going to die. My profession as a bond trader helped too. I divided everything into reasonable steps. Numberwise, I was instinctive. I gave myself a week to stay in this one spot. If nobody rescued me by Sunday, then I would need to go into the jungle in search of food. But, in reality, I was physically incapable of doing that. All I could do was shuffle on my elbows, dragging my useless hips. I gave myself a week to stay in this one spot. If nobody rescued me by Sunday, then I would need to go into the jungle in search of food. - Annette Herfkens Gradually, I retreated into the tranquility of the place. The jungle became more beautiful by the day. It was the perfect setting for my near-death experience on the seventh day, when I thought about my happy childhood and felt the love of my friends and family encircle me. I brought up treasured memories about my mother, father and siblings, who had always been so supportive of me in my life and career. But then, suddenly, I heard the sound of cracking wood. On the other side of the ravine was a man in an orange hood. I wondered whether he was real or a phantom. Some version of St. Peter? I waved frantically. “Hello? Can you help me?” He just stared at me and stayed motionless. Then he was gone. The orange man, a local policeman, turned out to be my savior. The authorities were looking for me. And although he first thought I was a ghost — he’d never seen a white woman before — he raised the alarm. The following day I was rescued by a team of Vietnamese workers. They showed me a passenger list from the flight and I pointed out my name. They had body bags with them, thinking that nobody could possibly have lived. They moved me onto a canvas and carried my broken body down the mountain. At first I was terrified to be leaving my ridge, the spot that had kept me safe in the aftermath of the accident. I didn’t want to leave Pasje. My first true love. It sent me into a panic being taken away from him. But, after a while, I rallied. Gratitude swept over me as the men took off their shoes so they could step more lightly on the rocks and not aggravate my injuries. Next, I was airlifted to Ho Chi Minh City before being transferred to a hospital in Singapore. I was surrounded by family and friends who had flown in from Holland and other parts of the world. They’d naturally feared I was dead when they heard about the crash. My incredible survival story made headlines across the world. After surgeries on my jaw, and a series of skin grafts and treatments for gangrene, I started to heal. Psychologically, however, it was hard. Pasje and I had been together for 13 years, so it felt like I was widowed. I attended his funeral on Dec. 10, 1992, in Breda, Holland. Brought into the church on a stretcher, I felt surreal — like a bride taken down the aisle to meet her groom in his coffin. I first walked again on New Year’s Eve, when I was convalescing at my parents’ home. Taking those first few steps was painful but I was so relieved I had enough strength to stand upright and move on two legs, instead of elbows. People might think it strange, but I returned to my job in Madrid in February. I loved my work and wanted to at least try to piece my life back together. A few years later, I married my Santander co-worker Jaime in secret — office relationships were frowned upon in those days in finance — and settled in New York in 1996. We had two beautiful children, Joosje, now 19, and her brother, 17-year-old Max. But our lives since the crash have not been smooth. In 2001, at the age of 2, Max was diagnosed with autism. As any special-needs parent knows, it’s easy to go into denial. It’s tempting to think: “What if he’s never able to go to a proper school?” or “Will he never get a job?” But, just as I accepted my circumstances in the jungle, I focused on the here and now — and not what should be. Max is now doing well at the Child School on Roosevelt Island. Sadly, my marriage fell apart, and Jaime and I were divorced two years ago. But I truly believe that every loss you take in life makes you a bit wiser, and every year, more accepting. To this day, the cause of my plane crash is unknown. Annette Herfkens with Mr. Cao, the first person to spot her after the crashProvided by publisher One of the biggest shocks to come out of the whole affair was my discovery 10 years ago that there had been two air crashes in the jungle that November in 1992. While researching my book, I had gone back to Vietnam to retrace my steps, revisit the mountain, and meet my rescuers, including the orange man. A young girl approached me as I left for Ho Chi Minh City. “My father went to rescue you and never came back!” she sobbed, falling into my arms. It turned out, a helicopter had been dispatched to get me off the mountain, but tragedy had struck when that aircraft also crashed. Eight people onboard were killed, including the girl’s father, a doctor. I struggled up the mountain, where I made my peace with Pasje and his memory. I left a small seal ornament because that was my nickname for him. It wasn’t closure that I found back in that place, but an opening to my own future.

Dressed in tree bark and leaves while munching on a rat caught in a complicated jungle trap, this guy looks a little different than Alexander Skarsgård, the Swedish actor who stole hearts in the new Tarzan movie.But this “real-life Tarzan” is credited with skills that are “superhuman.”Building tree houses, fashioning tools out of discarded bombs and catching a bat quicker than you can Google, Ho Van Lang, 44, spent 40 years living like a “slave” in isolation in the jungle.And now, Lang has been forced to re-enter civilization despite his love affair with the wilderness.Lang spent much of his life in the deepest jungles of Vietnam, in the Tay Tra district of Quang Ngai province, after his father, Ho Van Thanh, 85, fled civilization during the Vietnam War in 1972.Lang’s father, an army veteran, decided to flee with his two sons after a US bomb killed his wife and two of their children.They built wood houses and sourced water from rivers, using a variety of jungle delicacies for dinner, including fruit, honey and a host of meats like monkey, snake, lizard and frog.Along with his brother, Lang spent most of his life eating and living off the jungle until 2013, when locals found the family, alerted authorities and forced them to re-enter civilization.According to Alvaro Cerezo, who tracked Lang and his family down in November 2015, Lang’s father suffers from a “profound phobia of returning [to civilization] as he did not believe that the Vietnam War was over.”“They always escaped when they saw people from a distance.”In a new documentary that follows Lang throughout his reintroduction into modern society and which tracks his past as a hunter and gatherer, Cerezo convinced Lang to return to the jungle for the first time since his capture and spend a few days teaching him jungle survival techniques.The footage follows the full-day trek to Lang’s former jungle sanctuary while revealing the techniques he used to stay alive for so long.His trapping skills are particularly impressive, capturing and eating both a rat and a bat during Lang’s five-day homecoming. His favorite part of the rat? Its head.Lang’s isolation from the world has made it especially difficult to adapt to modern society; he cannot understand Vietnamese, has no concept of time other than from the sun, and struggles to understand the concept of electricity.Until he was found, Lang never knew of the existence of the female sex, as his father never told him.“More surprising still is that today, despite being able to distinguish between men and women, he still doesn’t know the essential difference between them,” Cerezo said.“I can confirm that Lang has never had the minimum sexual desire and his reproductive instinct has never shown its head in any of its many facets.”Credited as a “baby in a man’s body,” Lang’s brother, Tri, said, “Lang doesn’t understand many basic social concepts.”“Lang has spent his whole life in the jungle. So his brain is just like a baby,” his brother said.“If I asked Lang to beat someone, he would do it severely. He doesn’t know the difference between good and bad. Lang is just a child. He doesn’t know anything. Most people know what is good or bad in life, but my brother doesn’t.”“If I asked Lang to stab someone with a knife, he would do it without thinking and that person could die.”Yet Cerezo says Lang, despite his intellectual inability, is one of the most peaceful people he’s met.“Lang was probably the most adorable human I have ever met in my life, he just doesn’t know what is good or bad.”But despite fears Lang could “kill anyone” on request, Cerezo said Lang is “happily adapting to his new life.”He thinks the modern world is “noisy,” but he was particularly impressed by his first ride in a car (he was driven to a hospital when he was first discovered) and he loves seeing “animals being friendly with people.”“In the jungle animals always ran away from me,” he said.Cerezo says Lang is living a productive life and enjoys it “mainly for the freedom he now enjoys. He lived almost like a slave of his dad during his life in the jungle.”“The first year was the most difficult for Lang because of health problems from a virus and bacteria new to his system.”Lang’s father, though, is sadly not doing so well. Believing the Vietnam War is still going on, he sits alone in a squatting position in a corner of his room.“His major obsession is to return to the jungle one day,” said Cerezo.

The mom who drank her own urine to survive a dangerous 30-mile hike in Arizona said she was delirious and hallucinating before finally finding safe shelter.Karen Klein, 46, went searching for help when a car carrying her husband and son broke down in the snow on the north end of the Grand Canyon on Thursday.After more than a day of walking in cellphone-dead zones, Klein finally got to a cabin used to house park rangers but closed for the season.“I broke a window and crawled into the house,” she told NBC News from her hospital bed in Utah. “And around 2:30, I heard the knocking at the door, I heard people outside and I saw all the flashlights.“Because I was like hallucinating and delirious, like, my first thought was like, I yelled out: ‘I’m so sorry officer that I broke your window… don’t arrest me for breaking the window,’ ” she continued. “They were just like, ‘You have got to be kidding me.’ ”She had left her 10-year-old son Isaac and husband Eric Klein, 47, behind to find help on Thursday afternoon.When she hadn’t returned by Friday, they trekked out on their own and found a spot where cell-phone service worked and called for help.The 5-foot-4, 104-pound Karen Klein pulled a muscle near her hip before being rescued on Saturday.And toward the end of her journey. Klein could barely move in 10-steps intervals — often having to physically lift her legs one in front of the other.“I was taking my pants leg and lifting it to move my leg,” she said.The Pennsylvania woman said she kept telling herself to keep moving and stay alive for the sake of loved ones.“I can’t leave my son without a mom,” Klein recalled telling herself. “I can’t leave my husband without a wife. I’m not letting my parents bury me.”Klein suffered frostbite from her terrifying ordeal and will probably lose a toe or two.“In the grand scheme of things, I keep thinking `You know what? It’s a few toes. Don’t worry about it,’ ” said Klein, who teaches biology at Northampton Community College in Bethlehem.

Survival was a snap — and a crackle and a pop — for this granny.An 85-year-old woman stranded in her snowbound car for five days lived through the ordeal by rationing her supply of Rice Krispies Treats.Great-grandma Ruby Stein and her cat Nikki were on their way back home after visiting her granddaughter in Gypsum, Colo., but a wrong turn took her 20 miles into the mountains, Tucson News Now reported.Her Nissan Sentra got stuck at the end of a muddy dirt road, where its battery drained after she left the flashing lights on to try to attract attention. Her cellphone had no signal in the remote spot.“Whatever will be, will be. It’s nothing I can do about it,” Stein said she thought as she sat for days with a large mat to keep her legs warm.Despite the scary predicament, Stein remained composed.“I keep myself very calm, which surprised me. Of course, if you raise five kids, you know,” she said.She fashioned a makeshift blanket from some clothes and melted snow from the dashboard to drink.For sustenance, she consumed Rice Krispies Treats and sweet rolls — making sure to eat only two bites a day.She wondered if she would have to raid Nikki’s supply of cat food to avoid starving to death.“I wondered what that would really taste like,” Stein said of the feline fare.After five long days, Stein saw two hikers approaching her.“We stopped and peeked in since the car door was open and asked, ‘Is everybody OK? Is anybody in there?’” hiker Dan Higbee said.“I was never so glad to see anybody in my life,” Stein said. “Because I’ve always been a strong woman, a strong person. I believe whatever happens happens for a reason.”