Squeezed between the Vosges and the Rhine the Alsace region stretches narrowly along France’s spine, flanked by Germany to the north and east and by Switzerland to the south.

To the west Alsace borders Lorraine, a region towards which it has traditionally held a superiority complex. Historically however, Alsace and Lorraine have often shared similar characteristics and suffered similar setbacks.

Both regions were formerly part of the kingdom of Lotharingia and suffered terribly from plagues in the fourteenth century.

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Alsace

Even in November, France's eastern region is all about wine, cabbage and fondant fancy houses

Then as feudal Europe splintered into fiefs, duchies and bishoprics, the fateful geography of these regions – on the faultline of Germanic and Frankish cultures – guaranteed them a seemingly eternal status as hotspots for disputes.

And like its neighbour Alsace had until recently an established mining industry, but its capacity for fuelling French fires made it a frequent target for German expansionism.

Today those reignited old rivalries that saw Alsace change hands no less than four times in 75 years now seem thankfully extinguished. Yet the positive influences of German culture on Alsace were both strong and lasting.

For like Germany, Alsace is peppery and picturesque: black letter typography, sauerkraut and a notable passion for horology are all common elements. Many of the vine varieties cultivated on the fertile banks further east in Germany also line the foothills of the Vosges.

In the event, the cold November rain turned out to be harder to stomach than the choucroute garnie (though I confess I didn’t fancy the latter either). Even when the sun shone quite unexpectedly on our first day in Strasbourg, we knew it could only be a stay of execution.

Between Strasbourg and Colmar – where I discovered that most of my preconceptions about Alsace were in fact preconceptions about Rheinish Germany – the wine villages line up neatly for the touristic Route du Vin.

When November falls in these villages, the plurality of which points to Alsace’s historically dense population, not a single person can be seen in the streets. There’s aromatic smoke from the chimneys and the occasional foody smells, but that doesn’t shift the sense of unease that hangs thick like a raincloud. Goldilocks could eat her porridge in peace around here.

High above, the Château du Haut-Kœnigsbourg perches, faintly pompous and flushed with the colour of pink stone. Ruined in the Thirty Years’ War while under the control of the Dukes of Lorraine, Kaiser Wilhelm had it restored in 1900 after taking control of Alsace. The Germans took almost ten years to finish the job, then ten more years to lose Alsace – and the château – to the French.

For the benefit of the folks at home, our parents in the United Kingdom, we drew a slice of quiche on the back of the postcard. This was our way of making a familiar reference to the region of Lorraine.

We were sketching the quiche early on a hot, drowsy late summer afternoon in Nancy. Residents who weren’t yet near-horizontal on the terrasse of a café were shuffling past with their clutch of fresh, Sunday baguettes. A small proportion of these bread buyers couldn’t wait until they got home: they had already torn off and were chewing the exposed end. This is something I have always, despite myself, found totally sacrilegious.

The sketch turned out to be a near-masterpiece, rendered with understated hatching in black biro. Lightly browned on top with a just-right coverage of lardons and a tangy, roasted cross-section of tomato on top, this inky quiche looked good enough to eat.

A week or so later, during a ‘phone call after the postcard had arrived at its intended destination, my mother declared that she thought the picture was of “some kind of map”.

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Lorraine

A weekend in the fine French cities of Nancy and Metz, each with its own history and identity and each a local rival to the other.

Metz

Even though barely more than 50km from the border, Metz doesn’t betray any German influence, though the city has changed hands a few times in the last century and a half.

Despite thus being an historical symbol of intra-hegemonic dispute, Metz bucked the trend by being the city over which the first international handshake in space occurred, between American and Russian astronauts in 1975.

The lofty cathedral of St Étienne almost seems to reach into space too.

Narrow and incredibly high (the nave is tenth tallest in the world), it has occupied an elevated position overlooking the Moselle river since 1220, though construction was not completed until three centuries later.

Harmonising with the gothic architecture are the bright, richly-coloured stained glass windows, some of which are the work of the artist Marc Chagall.

Nancy

While Metz is a solid, medieval sort of place, neighbouring Nancy is cut from very different cloth.

The rather elegant appearance of the city was marked thus indelibly by one of history’s more curious figures, Stanisław Leszczyński. King of Poland twice, Leszczyński eventually abdicated in a payoff deal that gave him the Duchy of Lorraine.

In the centre of the wide square that bears his name, Stanisław’s statue points North, presumably in the direction from whence he came. Whatever his unusual origins, this remarkable feat of urban planning joins two distinct parts of Nancy in a delightful way, providing a focal point for the city at any time of day.

The square was allowed nevertheless to fall into disrepair or even disuse at times during its history. It’s hard to believe when looking at the results of the recent 9.5m euro restoration that for forty-odd ignominious years, Place Stan’ served as a car park. Today it forms part of a UNESCO World Heritage site that was our fifth visit to such a site this year.