My first experience living overseas (well, except that I was born abroad, but left when I was 18 mon old) was in Germany in the late '80s. I didn't know a lick of German, not even ein bisschen.
My first night I went to a restaurant with a couple of guys who knew German. They had found out where a nice place was, so two U-bahn changes later, we're at the Italian place (only to find out later there was one about 200m from where we were living). We all ordered pizza, not knowing what else to order, and of course pepperoni because, well, pepperoni.
Imagine our surprise when we were each served our very own pizza with long squiggly green peppers on it. At that moment I looked at those two "German speakers" and laughed. I promised myself to take a German course as soon as possible.
Since then, anywhere I was living (Italy, Saudi, Afghanistan, Iraq, Denmark), no matter how short (2 weeks to 4 months to 4 years), I made sure to learn enough of the "Berlitz-y" stuff so that I could at least get food, beer, shelter and use the bathroom.